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,

hugged her,

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 8^th drug test failed in the last 8 months.