He jumped back on the stool
and loosened the rope
that was constricting his neck.
He then took it off and stepped down
and slowly walked backwards
past the door leading into the cellar;
backwards up the stairs into the kitchen
of his grandmother’s house.
The tears then climbed back into his eyes
disappearing and neutralizing his face,
returning it back to a solemn expression.
He continued to backpedal into the living room
where he leaned over
and pressed his lips on his grandmother’s forehead.
Then he moved farther and farther
until he sat back down on the armchair
across from her, watching her
while thoughts of self-hatred started to rewind
until his eyes were diverted to a picture
of his dead parents.
He then spat an entire drink of whiskey
back into a small glass
and the whiskey was lifted from the glass
and sucked into the bottle
which contained a little more of it.
This process was repeated 8 times
until he got up and backtracked
once again towards his grandmother,
and the words “?magrand, hey” went back
into his voice box.
Backwards past the hallway he went,
through the front door
and locked it with his set of keys.
He then regurgitated three Percocet pills
onto his hand with some water
which went back into a plastic bottle
and said, “shitbull fucking,” shaking his head,
thinking about the drug test
he had just came from taking—and failed,
for the security job he needed.
The 8th drug test failed in the last 8 months.