EXERCISE Plot Challenge: She put the shot glass down.

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Diana, Jun 18, 2013.

  1. PLOT CHALLENGE!

    A PLOT CHALLENGE is where you are given a word, a phrase, a sentence, or a setting and you have to come up with a plot idea that is inspired by those words!

    The object is to THINK FAST and share the first ideas that come to mind. It's an exercise in quick creative thinking. You can do this challenge any time. Or multiple times!

    To Participate: THINK FAST. Don't waste any time. The first idea(s) that comes to mind, write it down and post it! You are to write down a plot premise or basic idea. This isn't about writing scenes, this is about writing up a setting!

    NOTE: If you decide to borrow someone's concept for a roleplay, make sure you ask permission or give credit to the muse.

    Challenge Phrase: She put the shot glass down.
     
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  2. She put the shot glass down. What was she thinking? She has been entirely sober for a year, and her father's death was going to make her drink again? One shot might not ruin her, but if history repeats itself, one shot will lead to 14 quickly, and she'll end up moving from shots, to whole bottles of liquor. She needed to get somewhere without alcohol. But where? All of her friends were probably sleeping. After all, it was 4:00am. Her mom isn't doing too well from dad's death. But she's an alcoholic so when she sad, she drinks. Which means, she recently stocked up. Where to now? Only one answer. On a road trip.
     
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  3. "Steel to my trembling lips
    How did the night ever get like this?
    One shot and the whiskey goes down, down, down
    Bottom of the bottle hits
    Waking up my mind as I throw a fit
    The breakin' is takin' me down, down, down"

    ~ Runnin By Adam Lambert

    The taste of the whisky burned her throat all the way down. She put the shot glass down with a heavy thud and tossed it with one finger to the bar tender. The burn made her numb and slowly she started to forget. "Another." The sunny blonde said to the bartender. He frowned looking at the small pile of glasses she'd accumulated. "You outta slow down a bit." Dangerous green eyes slid to the man. Eyes with sorrow, remorse and regret. But also eyes that had the ability to lack compassion. Her full lips parted as she stared the man down. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you." She replied.

    "I'm just sayin' love. It'll go straight to your head." The woman narrowed her eyes as she looked over the man slowly, a gentle scoff leaving her lips. Then suddenly with incredible speed she stood up and pulled her hand gun from her holster and aimed it at the man's head. He jerked back, nearly breaking the glasses and bottles behind him. "This bullet will go strait to your head." She said in a calm voice. "Give me the bottle." Hastily the bartender gave her the bottle and once before her, she placed the weapon away. Snatching the bottle the blonde tossed ample money down before walking away.

    The pain in her heart was too great from some do good barkeep trying to stop her from getting numb. She needed the bottle now like she needed air to breathe. She lost men today in her raid. Good men. With wives and children. Wives and children whom she'd have to face tomorrow and tell them their fathers gave their lives for their leader. Their savior but everyone else's villain.
     
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  4. Down it went with a slam and there was no doubt that the shot glass had left an angry little dent in soft wooden table top. That bastard just lo~ves his furniture and his house. That bastard is so fucking glued to his inanimate objects as if they're the best friends anyone could ask for! And hell, maybe they are. Tables don't have opinions or conflicting interests. The grandfather clock in the drawing room certainly doesn't desire room to breathe. Clocks don't fucking breathe. But I breathe. I breathe a whole lot and quite frankly it was a while ago that I was pretty much done with just sitting there, a god damn sucker for punishment while he clung to me, squeezed me, and refused to let up.

    I can't have friends, especially male ones. I can't go out on my own without telling him where I'm going first. The list of things I can't do just keeps piling up and I've had it! I've fucking had it! Once upon a time I found him charming, but right now, glaring across the table at yet another one of his childish, alcohol-fueled temper tantrums riddled with shots in the dark at my female flaws and my so called insensitivity, all I can see is a monster.

    Maybe I'll pick that shot glass back up again and this time really chuck it at his stupid head.

    Summary: Basically this is about a woman finding the patience to keep dealing with a douchebag clingy lover. Definitely a love/hate, blackrom relationship tale. :)
     
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  5. My legs are dangling off the edge,
    an bottom of a bottle is my only friend,
    I think I'll slit my wrist again,
    and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.

    By: Hollywood Undead

    These lyrics of bullet began to play in her head as she had a bottle of gin on the top off a roof. She stared out and looked at the view. 'Well here I am again. I wonder if Eddy will come he's usually here by now. She took out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in her mouth. Still holding the bottle she pulled out her lighter and lit the cigarette. 'I wonder if he'll notice the new scares.' She looked a her arm where someone had cut it within the bar after trying to get his hands on her. She took another sip of gin till it was gone. 'Well I guess he's a no show. He probable found a new girl to hang with if that's the case I better go see if Tim has something stronger.' She jumped down from the rooftop and headed to Tim's place.
     
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  6. She put the shot glass down and turned to around grabbing another piece of packing paper only to find that it was covered by a greasy slice of pizza. Packing, moving, take-out boxes, moving boxes, junk and crap all over the place every single day for the last month was driving her insane.

    Nothing was where it should be. Whiskey or vodka should be in the shot glass but it was being packed. Along with the wine rack that was empty, the fridge was unplugged and they had no ice. Her place was a mess. A party gone wrong, a life gone to pot and they were packed too but in what box? Who the hell knew?

    What was she going to do now? Where was she going and why? She had the answers a few weeks ago. When he was here and it was all making sense. Now? The mess the chaos the cold pizza and empty rooms. What was going to happen?

    Looking at the ring on her finger and the seeing that her phone had a text from him she blushed and felt like she could breathe again. With shaking hands she started to pack again, she could do this.
     
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  7. Inspiration: Carrie Underwood - Last Name

    She put the shot glass down. The liquid, though iced and chilled, burned an unholy fire on its way down, threatening for it, and the rest of the four-too-many she had taken so far, to come right back up. Swallowing hard, Elise Metcalf placed her hands against the counter and stood up, to the chagrin of her drinking partner Tyler. Tyler... something. She didn't even know his last name. Lights pulsed around them, accentuated by hard bass hits and muffled by the chatter of people on the dance floor.

    "Hey, where you goin'?" The charming Southern man inquired. "You tappin' out already? The night's still young! Hey bartender, bring us another, would ya please?"

    Elise's world wobbled like a spinning top about to lose momentum. Cheeks flushed from a combination of overly forward conversation and the reaction of alcohol, she chuckled nervously as the barhand slid another pair of shot glasses filled to the brim with whiskey over to them. Something about Tyler's disarming blue eyes told her should run, but at the same time she was so entranced and enchanted by him that she had to stay.

    "A'right, mmaybeonemore..." She slurred, one hand clumsily lifting the shot glass while the other gripped the counter for dear life. After a shared clink of the glasses with Tyler Unknown-Last-Name, she cocked her head back and poured another ounce of that fiery fluid down her throat, hissing as it burned down an already scorched throat. She put the shot glass down, staring at this man whose full name she still didn't know.

    "Attagirl, Eliza!" He couldn't even get her name right anymore. "C'mon babe, let's hit the dance floor!" Elise was unable to resist as he took a hold of her wrist - firm but not aggressive, leading the helpless girl through the crowds of moving bodies. She struggled to maintain balance in her stiletto heels, leaning heavily against Tyler's deliciously well-built physique.

    The next moments spun in a blur of dance, grind, kiss, sweat, bodies, and hands. She could remember the feel of the leather interiors of Tyler's car against her bare skin, and the taste of his body. She could still recall the sensation of wind whipping at her hair as she vomited out the window of a moving car. She remembered bright lights and the Las Vegas strip. All in one crazy night with some man whose last name she didn't know.

    She woke up to the sounds of him cleaning off in the shower, their hotel bed a sweaty, sprawling mess of sheets and clothes. Allowing her eyes to adjust to the light, she ran a hand through her hair as she tried to piece togeth--

    Wait. What the hell was that?

    She looked back at her hand. On her ring finger sat a solitaire diamond ring, probably fake.

    Now she didn't even know her own last name.
     
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  8. She put the shot glass down. She knew that she didn't need it.. She knew that even after everything that's happened she doesn't need it. She walked out of the bar and walked down the street,hoping not to attract too much attention on such a silent night... There weren't many people on the roads, a car here and there,but nothing too distracting. She shoved her hand into her pocket reaching around for her earbuds. As she pulled her hand out of her pocket she examined what was in her hand. Her engagement ring and a pair of earbuds lay in her hand.. She reared up at the thought of him. She found herself whispering "I don't need him..," a tear slipped down her cheek "I don't need anyone.."
    When she arrived at her small cramped apartment she walked up the stairs,walking down the hall she reached into her pocket once again,looking for her key. As she started getting agitated not being able to find it she heard a deep voice behind her. "Hey there beautiful!" She turned around not in the mood for her friends jokes. Yet when she turned around it wasn't her friend.. It was a complete stranger! The stranger held his hands up,dangling her keys in between his long skinny fingers with a fairly big grin plastered on his face..
     
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  9. She wasn't here to drink, the woman with green eyes, but at the time it seemed ideal. She put the shot glass down, the dark bronze liquid crashing unrestrained. Some contents spilled upon the otherwise messy bar. One could easily be distracted by it, the taste, what it could do once consumed in mere seconds, where it lead to. Though frequently dancing on risk's edge, now was not the time to do so. Strangers walked among one another, conversations spoke, nothing important, nothing she paid attention to.

    She crossed one long leg over the other, ran a hand through her auburn hair. Of all the conversations, her ears perked up, drawn to the right, a crowded table. The rambunctious male host speaking on matters to captivate his audience. The drones were enthralled.

    It brought a smile to her face.

    Returning a sure look to the shot glass, her slender finger grazes the top. Round and round, in a circle, until the motion breaks open the previously hidden packet concealed in her palm. A white powder drowns into the liquid of which she retrieves the shot glass to swirl it a bit. Still smiling, she summons a working stranger with a head nod. The person comes immediately, aiming to please. It is to that one she speaks, passing the shot glass to them, cocking her head toward the rowdy one, at the table.


    Ever present is her smile, neither vicious nor sweet.​
     
    #9 Bel _ Vel _ El, Jun 28, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 28, 2014
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  10. She put the shot glass down, and smiled. Detective Caitlin Moore said to her reflection in the sliding glass door with a powerful slur in her speech, "You are one bad ass detective Caitlin Moore. In fact you deserve yet another one." Caitlin fixed another shot glass of tequila and said, "Here's to you again Det...Detect...The baddest ass police officer Orlando has ever seen." She threw back the shot glass and put it back on the bar.

    Just then she heard her cell-phone ring, and Caitlin saw the caller ID stated, "Captain Miller." Caitlin said, "Sorry cap you're on your way to voice mail. This girl is gonna live...it up tonight! I just solved the Bay Cove shooter case that has..dogged your department for the last...3 years! You and the all boys network said I was a...fool to take on this case..." Caitlin fixed another shot glass threw it back and yelled, "Kiss my ass Captain!"

    Once she saw she had a voice mail Caitlin entered the PIN on her phone and began to listen to the message. Captain Miller said, "Caitlin this Captain Miller. I thought you should know Jacobs made bail. Call me as soon as you get this, so I can send you a unit to get you. I'm afraid that he's gunning for you."

    Caitlin started to dial the office but dropped her phone. She bent over to get it just as she heard the unmistakable sound of a window breaking, and the mirror behind her bar break. Without even hesitating Caitlin pulled out a 38 special from her ankle and shot the light out in her apartment. She looked at where the bullet came from and figured Jacobs was reloading. The tequila induced stupor Caitlin had been under was now gone. The rush of adrenaline took care of that and Caitlin's mind shifted focus. Caitlin pulled back on the hammer, rolled to her left, stood up and saw a red dot on her chest. Caitlin knew she had just been targeted, but very quickly she shot across the way. Suddenly the red dot went away, and Caitlin grabbed her phone. She called her Captain and said, "Good news I got your message. Bad news Jacobs is probably dead in the parking garage across the street. No media coverage for the D-A."

    Caitlin smiled and had another drink.
     
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  11. She put the shot glass down.. But it wasn't a drink.. No. This was a shot glass.

    About two weeks earlier, she had been going to the house of a friend of hers who became a drug dealer because of the lack of passion and money that were haunting his life for several years now. She didn't know what to do to help him. He was an outlaw, he was avoiding the authorities and he was already notorious. Still, everyday, she visited him.. She visited him because she had hopes for him. Because he wasn't using drugs yet. She wanted to get him out of this hell. So one faithful day, she decided to go and visit him at night. It was awfully quiet.. Way too quiet. The front door was unlocked, so she came in, holding a long and thin glass with some water in it and a flower. There were no sounds coming from within the house, either. She entered the home, headed for his bedroom, before his bedroom door shot open and his motionless body, with a single bullethole on his forehead, fell from it.

    " IT'S A FRIEND OF HIS! SHOOT HER DOWN! "

    She had no time to react.

    I was too late..

    The military that were in his bedroom yelled as they shot her countless times. So she stumbled backwards, the glass being shot, too, right where the 'head' of the flower was. She fell to her knees, using the last of her strength. she put the shot glass down so it wouldn't break even further, then fell on her front, her pupils vanishing, giving into death slowly as the last things she were able to see were the authorities packing his body inside a bodybag and one single police officer stopping and looking at the shot glass she put down..
     
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  12. She put the shot glass down with a sigh of satisfaction from the burning alcohol's sensation down her throat. She had had enough of life. She had literally just killed her parents. What was up with that? Nothing. They abused her from the get-go, and they deserved it. Soon enough the cops would be after her, but...oh well. She was done with life anyway.
     
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  13. She put the shot glass down. There were two others, exactly like it, and a bottle of "El Masoquista" on the table, and all three of them had been drunk from tonight.

    It was almost two in the morning and she had been called out to investigate gun shots heard in an apartment complex on the south side of town. It had been assumed that it was gang business, as this was gang territory, but as soon as they broke down the door it became apparent that this wasn't just another case of gang violence. The small apartment had three rooms to it; a small bathroom with a strong smell of mould, the bedroom that Angela was stood in and a windowless reception room-cum-kitchenette where they had found the bodies of two teenaged girls. Angela was neither a mortician nor a proper crime scene analyst, but she had been on the force for sixteen years and knew what a close-range GSW looked like. Both girls had been dispatched in the same way, and their naked bodies were posed in the middle of the floor with their arms and legs intertwined, whilst the redhead held what looked like Glock 26 in her hand.

    Unsurprisingly, the popular theory at this early stage were two shamed lesbians partaking in a double suicide pact of some sort, and the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses in the bedroom only made it seem more plausible. After all, who wouldn't need a little Dutch (or, in this case, Mexican) courage to get themselves into the state of mind required for such a gruesome final act? It was grim and spoke volumes for the problems of society, but teenaged suicide pacts weren't unheard of, especially for interracial couples like this. Everything pointed to a double suicide and, as macabre as it was, it made for a fairly open and shut investigation.

    However, during her sweep of the bedroom, Angela had found a third shot glass under the bed. She couldn't confirm it for certain, but the mix of silver tequila and habanero sauce that she could smell on the glass matched that left in the bottle of Masoquista on the nightstand. Angela hadn't really taken a close look at the two bodies, they were late teens, maybe nineteen at most, but perhaps as young as seventeen and, with a seventeen year old daughter of her own, Angela had left the examination of the bodies to the other investigators. The three shot glasses all had lip marks on, and two had lipstick; one a pale natural pink shade and the other a more vibrant red. She had noticed that the redhead had been wearing red lipstick, but what about the other?

    Angela stuck her head out of the door and beckoned across an officer. "Hammond, have the victims got lipstick on?"

    "Yes ma'am," replied the twenty-something officer. "We don't have names yet, so, forgive me, but the redhead is wearing a cherry red colour, whilst the Latina is wearing a sort of light tanny brown?" He shrugged his shoulders, clearly not satisfied with his own description of the colour, but unable to come up with anything better.

    "Tanny brown?" repeated Angela, furrowing her brow. "Definitely not pink?"

    Hammond nodded, "I'm no expert, but it's definitely somewhere on the tanny brown spectrum, and it's definitely not a shade of pink."

    "Damn it," muttered Angela as she stared at the three shot glasses. "That's not what I wanted to hear."

    "Why? What did you find?" asked Hammond, speaking tentatively, but also with the enthusiasm of a rookie that didn't know any better.

    "These two girls weren't alone here tonight," replied Angela, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Stick a pot of coffee on, kid, we're going to be here for a while."
     
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  14. She put the shot glass down exactly where it was meant to go. It opened up a secret doorway which led to a secret chamber. As she went down hoping it’s the legendary treasure she has heard off and found nothing. Only thing down there was a map with an X located on it. She mumbles out loud “I hope this is the last one this time”
     
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  15. Love, Lies, and Liquor

    How could it have gone this far? How could she have let it get so out of hand? She stared into the tiny glass in her hand, her deadened eyes reflecting in the golden liquid that filled it, as if the drink was staring back at her. Shaking her head, she sighed. Of course, she wouldn't find her answers here; she knew that all too well. But that didn't change the storm raging in her heart, the turn of events that led her to the place where she met him, the place she always went to wash her troubles away with liquor. It was a similar situation in which she met him: a love gone sour as margarita salt, laced with infidelity and lies. The only difference was that, this time, the lies were hers, the disloyalty hers. It was all hers and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to shove it all on someone else, pin the blame on another. Her longing gaze intensified on the glass. Everything inside her told her not to drink it, that it would only make things worse, but there was that whisper in her ear that urged "How much worse can it get?" With a heavy sigh, she brought the glass to her lips and sucked down the drink. It tasted bitter. She put the shot glass down, shoved a dollar bill across the bar for the man behind it, and got into the car of another stranger.
     
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  16. She put the shot glass down and it shattered in her hand. Shards of glass flew every which way, skittering down the bar counter and falling onto the floor. Blood trickled down her palm as the sharp pieces pierced her skin.

    "Oh shit!" She shrieked, jumping up and waving her hand about. Drops of blood flew through the air and splattered onto the unsuspecting bar goers. "I'm bleeding!" She cried out, shoving her hand right under the bartender's nose. The man recoiled and glowered at the woman who was sobbing and dancing around showing her hand to any one who would stop to look.

    "Oh for the love of G--Calm down, Gina. Jesus Christ, calm the hell down!" The bartender snapped, leaving the bar under the watchful eye of his co-worker and going to fetch Gina. He grabbed the woman and dragged her into the back.

    Gina continued to wail dramatically, as the bartender pulled her over to the sink. "D'you think I'll need stitches?"

    "No."

    "Like how many? Five? Eight?! How will I be able to afford--Aaaah! Fuck--Shit James! Gimme a little warning next time, huh?" Gina growled, cradling her alcohol drenched hand to her chest.

    "Serves you right for being a drama queen." James growled back.
     
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  17. She put the shot glass down roughly. Tears threatened to pour from her warm, brown eyes, this had been the third time this week she had caught her father drinking. Luckily, he had caused himself to pass out on the hardwood floor. A fourteen year old girl could only take so much abuse, she had bruises covering nearly every inch of her body. Her father had beat her, a few times actually. Every time he got drunk, which was quite often. Michaela could not consider the man at her feet be her father, he had made sure of it.

    Letting out a long sigh, the brown haired female slowly turned around. She walked back towards her small bedroom, knowing what she had to do. This would be her only chance. She would have to run away. Opening the wooden door to her room, she stepped in and grabbed the bag she already had ready incase it came down to this. Slinging it over her shoulder, Michaela stepped out of her room and headed to the back door.

    Reaching out, she unlocked the door before opening it. Quickly, Michaela shut the door before taking off into a run. The cool night air flowing through her hair. She knew she would have to get as far away as possible for her father would certainly be after her once he woke up.

    After a while of running, Michaela eventually arrived to a police station. Walking up to the nearest officer, she spoke.
    "Officer, I need your help. I've ran away because he's h-hurt me." She held her bare arms out to the officer. His eyes widened before immediately rushing her inside. "Come on, I promise he won't hurt you anymore. In fact, you never have to see him again."

    A smile seemed to appear on Michaela's face as relief washed over her. She wouldn't have to endure the pain of her father. Never again.

     
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  18. The smell of cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and sweat permeated the air of the dimly lit, the run down bar. The place was a haven for rough and tumble types and those who simply couldn't afford to get drunk in a more reputable establishment. It was exactly the type of place Callysto Lannbais loved to frequent.

    A half-grin tugged at the tall, auburn haired woman's lips as she placed a five dollar bill on the scuffed up bar and plopped down upon a stool, "Give me a shot of Jameson."

    The bartender took the proffered five spot and promptly went about the business of plunking down a shot glass in front of Callysto and sloppily filling it with the Irish whiskey she had ordered, then moved off to take care of other paying customers.

    Wasting no time, she plucked up the shot glass in her right hand, raising it to her lips. However, the glass only made it half way to its destination as a hand came to rest upon her right shoulder. The unexpected, physical contact brought a flicker of annoyance to the emerald depths of her eyes.

    "Hey babe, I've never seen you 'round here befo--," a male voice began.

    "Get your damned hand off of me, ass hat," Callysto growled, clearly annoyed, but willing to let things go as long as the idiot complied.

    The man withdrew his hand slowly, arching a brow, "What the hell's your problem?" a hint of anger evident in the tone of his voice.

    She offered him no response, and began raising the shot glass to her lips once again. Then, just as she was about to down that glass of golden liquid goodness when a hand came to rest upon her right shoulder once again. The glass came to a halt just an inch away from her lips as she gritted her teeth.

    "I asked what the hell your problem was? I was just trying to be frie--," the man spoke once again.

    Callysto cut him off once more, "Take your fucking hand off of me or lose the damned thing..," she growled, one eye twitching some as she tried to keep her temper from getting the best of her.

    The hand withdrew yet again, the man grumbling something derogatory under his breath as he backed off.

    Without further hesitation, before something could interrupt her plans once again, Callysto brought the shot glass to her lips and drained its contents in one gulp. In that moment a hand once more came down upon her shoulder, this time gripping it in a forceful manner. She felt hot air tickle the skin of her right ear as a familiar voice whispered, "You're one uptight bitch, maybe you just need a good fuck... I could help you with that..."

    A line had been crossed in that moment and she put the shot glass down. In the blink of an eye she slammed the back of her head into the man's face and grabbed the nearest bottle of beer on the counter. The man was staggering backwards uttering a surprised curse as she spun about on her stool and launched herself at him, wielding the bottle like a weapon. The bastard had his chance to walk away, but chose to push his luck. Now he would learn a painful lesson.
     
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  19. "She wants to be up there
    In the air where the clouds live
    The sweetest seeds make the best treats
    30,000 feet she can smile there and now
    She puts her shot glass down
    She asks for another round
    She wants to hit the clouds
    Honey are you up there now
    She puts her shot glass down
    She asks for another round

    Girl don't you hit the ground...." - Kickin' In By Adam Lambert

    She put the shot glass down, anger and frustration obvious in her action. She didn't think she would have to go through this agonizing experience, no, it never even crossed her mind. Slouching down in her seat she sighed heavily, the burning sensation in her throat growing, she fought hard holding back painful tears in her already bloodshot eyes from crying beforehand.

    She never knew how painful it could be losing someone she held so dear to her.
    Looking back on the experience made her heart ache. He died right before her eyes, there was nothing she could have possibly done to stop it from happening. There was no way she could have seen it coming either, the car came out of nowhere.
    They both stood at the traffic light, waiting patiently as the light turned green and all the ongoing cars stopped. Looking both ways they continued to walk off the sidewalk and onto the road. Her husband was only a couple feet in front of her as she watched a car, speeding out of the blue and hit her husband. As the car made contact with her husband, the force had him flown up in the air like a thrown paper airplane landing him directly across the street from where they once were. Her faced distorted as she replayed in her head the happening that had just unfolded in front of her. In panic she ran towards her husband, but it was too late. An onlooker had called the police, and the drunk driver had been arrested. Everything was going too fast for her to take, she was still at the part were he had got hit and couldn't possibly move from there. After being taken to the hospital for a minor check up, she was released.

    Not knowing what to do with herself she wandered, before finding herself at the bar, wasting herself by drowning herself in alcohol. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't go to the funeral, no, she couldn't. It was hard enough having to go around day by day knowing he wasn't gonna be there beside her. If she had gone to the funeral she would have went crazy.
    Slapping her hand on the counter, she looked at the bartender standing before her indicating she wanted another round. The bartender sighed, taking another clean glass from the pile, he filled it with beer before sliding it across the counter.

    "Hey don't kill yourself now. You think it would make that person any better if you went and ended your life?" The male asked silently, looking over the woman with soft eyes.

    She looked up at the bartender, taking the glass whilst sipping its contents in small portions.
    "...of course not." She replied with a soft gaze as the bartender smiled before continuing his work.
    She knew he was right, which was why she couldn't deny it. With a deep sigh, she dug through her purse as she took out a bundle of cash before exiting the bar, a smile growing on her face. It wont be easy but, she'll move on.
     
    #19 ZomPI, Aug 28, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 28, 2014
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  20. It was well known that she had the body of a goddess, even if she acted as if that wasn't the case. The way she walked around, it simply enticed those who drew too near, to the sun upon earth.
    She picked me up, on a lovely summer's day, I couldn't resist, I had nothing to say.
    We walked into a bar, after stepping out of her car, and inside was the life thriving within the night.
    We had a quick kiss, she never missed, and we went out back, not to hit the sack.
    Passions flaring, eyes staring, she pulled out a gun and stared blaring.
    We had each other's tongues down each other's throats, more liquid than moats, but alas...

    She put the shot glass down.
    I fell to the ground.
    And I was out cold from merely the sound.
    I started to die.
    I started to cry.
    But at least the shot she drunk, was none other than I.
     
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