Do not resuscitate

Edward awoke alone. The sticky dark that greased his eyes was troubling. When had this night come?

His fingers glanced something smooth as he rose from the mattress, and for an instant he froze. After a panicked moment a memory fluttered from the muck. The bottle. How had it all come to this?

Ed pressed the squishy orbs of his eyeballs deeper into their sockets and tired to think. Ice rattled in the familiar tumbler as he located the bottle in the black. Waving his hand like a lost relative left at the gas station, his fingers eventually scraped the smooth surface of his remaining friend. His inflammatory companion. His fiery liquid love.

Fumbling with his free hand through the pockets of his discarded jeans, eventually he was able to free the ring of keys. He returned to the door for the hundredth time and began the ritual. One by one he pressed their corrugated faces against the unyielding keyhole. One by one they were rejected. Options exhausted, he slumped at his desk in his underpants. His gaze glossed at the sweating glass. His frowning lips craved. His frowning eyes desired.

*** Don't worry, this is not a continuing story. Just a blip. Believe it or not, this is complete. ***