By Ruth Hill
I’d drunk most nights for years. Sure, the doctors told me to cut down, but didn’t they say that to everyone? It never affected me like this before. I tried to keep my head above water—well wine. How to get out? I doggy paddled about, making sure each edge was the cool, firm, solid glass it appeared. Could I push out the cork? But they never go back in as firmly as they start, and from inside, treading wine, I wouldn’t have the strength. I swam to the edge, breath heavy on the glass, and with one finger scrawled: HELP!
Very intriguing perspective. Very.