Snowstorms and Aftermath

This is slightly revised, post-champagne.

The living room and kitchen are dotted with half-empty beer bottles, blue moon and moose drool, standing ominously, casting shadows three times their length against the lights from Christmas tree. Torn from her belt, Kara has hung sleigh bells on the tree, haphazardly dressing it up like a holiday Frankenstein. We always take things a few steps too far.

I can't hold my eyes open this evening. erika and dan are upstairs, jenna has turned in and abbey is nowhere to be found. I ran the dishwater thirty minutes ago, when everyone left, but the glasses and pans are suspended surreally in the water. They'll be there tomorrow when I wake up, Charlie entangled with me in the comforter. These days, he's the only one cutting off the circulation in one of my legs, the only one I have to wake to slide away from.

Now, I'm home and reverting to everything I used to be. I'm not wearing black anymore. Drifting from the vampire I've become. Don't pick up the phone. Don't answer the door.