by Rich Porter

Created on: October 29, 2008

Her name was Corin. She was a beautiful woman. Although she was small and timid, she would often demand the attention of those around her. It was not a verbal command, nor was it physical. It was something cryptic, far beyond what I could comprehend at my young age of 21. I will never forget that first time our eyes met. Years later she would remark how tantalizing my own were, a shade of brown that reminded her of the honey she bottled and ate in her youth. I saw nothing spectacular about my eyes when I looked in the mirror, but Corin, she would say, saw the future. I wonder now if she saw the events that would take place. Did she see our demise? Did she see in my eyes the pain and torture I would endure? I was careless enough to trust her with my life. She was careless enough to assume I wouldn't seek revenge.

*

The alarm clock beeped at regular intervals, every second the obnoxious tone would rise, growing louder and louder. Morris groaned and rolled over in his bed. He'd take one of four pillows on his bed and use it to cover his ears, but by that time he was already awake, unable to return to that deep sleep he loved so dearly. It was a Monday morning and Morris was extremely hung over. The night before involved many drinks and a plethora of illegally acquired prescription drugs. He was feeling sick to his stomach. It must have been the pills, alcohol and lack of food. He was so intoxicated the night before that he even fell asleep fully clothed, his sneakers still tied loosely to his feet. He knew undoubtedly that he was a train wreck.

"Mah!" Morris screamed from between his pillows. "Call out of work for me, please?" There was no response. He groaned again and rolled over onto his back, using his right hand to slap the alarm clock off the night stand beside his bed. The digital clock shattered and slowly the loud beeping stopped, drawing to an end as though it were saying its last goodbye slowly, drowned out by the shuffling of Morris moving blankets and sheets. He stood to his feet, cursed at himself for breaking the alarm and attempted the hardest thing he'd ever done: walking down stairs while hung over. He struggled with the first four steps, almost losing his balance and missing the very first one. As his eyes cleared he gained more of his equilibrium back and finally he was at the bottom, screaming for his mother once again. "Mah! Are you home?" There was still no answer. He narrowed his eyes in thought, contemplating where his stay-at-home mother

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