“A twisted mind will get you nowhere nice” he repeated to himself while splashing the freezing water over his face. That was something his father used to tell him when he was little. He cupped his hands and stared at the water for a while. He looked on as it started to trickle off, oozing between his fingers, the pool inside getting shallower and shallower. He tried to press his fingers tight to one another, in an effort to keep the water from trickling out, and it seemed to slow down a bit, but then oozed out anyway.
Looking up from the basin, Luke saw his badly-cut face in the mirror and pressed his eyes shut. That hurt, too. He didn’t know which hurt more – the black and blue image in the mirror, the black swells on his eyes, or the memory of how he had received them.
“No more vodka,” he thought furiously. It was all vodka’s fault. He even didn’t know why he ended up drinking that stuff. He hated vodka since the last time he got drunk on it. He knew that threat would not intimidate the bottle he could still see to the left of the dirty fridge. He knew he was trying to intimidate himself. And he knew it was no good.
His face hurt. He filled his cupped hands with freezing water again and splashed it on. His father’s words rang through his mind again. Why wouldn’t the old man be quiet for a while? How come it was his father’s words he could hear, and not those of his elder brother?
Every time his elder brother heard those words he would counter them: “A twisted mind will get you anything you want.”
With a soft grunt he moved away from the washbasin and towards the window.
A champagne stopper flew off with a weird pop. Who would be drinking champagne at this time of the day? His face felt huge. Something caught his glance. On the front of his muddied and torn T-shirt was a rose in bloom.
“A twisted heart will get you nowhere nice,” he thought with his last flash of consciousness. The floor was cold and hard, and damp with filth.
© 2012 Mariya Koleva