Narrative Essay On Dorm Room

Mistress J weighed heavy on my mind. Goddamn her. Her and her wretched games. I brought a bottle of fireball whiskey to my lips and took a prolonged swig. There was no burning sensation as I drank it, no bitter flavor or bite. I’d had too much alcohol that night to experience delicate, human sensations such as taste. The cinnamon-spice liquor no longer really tasted of anything, just a profound blandness, smooth and gentle like water as it slid down my throat, into my stomach, and then through my small intestine. From there the toxins would be absorbed by itty-bitty blood cells, then come towards my already jittering liver, who was trying with all his might to prevent that poison from reaching a point of metabolized oversaturation in my bloodstream. He wouldn’t accomplish his objective, not if I could help it. It would be a long night, the kind of night that turns to early morning and then before you know it the sun is
Rays of light came down from the dorm room ceiling and refracted like little daggers in my eyes, and the small box of a living quarters I was trapped in seemed suffocating. The lights were bemusing and bustling, and the room kept darting around, as if I were a passenger on a Japanese bullet train riding through a bright, dazzling city, the lights streaking past me wildly. I felt wobbly, but was still conscious to the world. I remembered Mistress J and her madness, her games, her plots and foils, they were all still present, even as the world began to spin. I didn’t want to feel like this. Even an obscured world, a distorted world, was far too much for me to handle in that moment. I wanted an utter darkness to consume me. I wanted a pure, placid, consuming black void to ensconce me, drowning out my mind and the complications that go with being me and doing the things that I’ve