An Example of Creative Writing

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I leant forward and took a whiff of the delicate poison. Its pungent smell burnt my nostrils and made my eyes water. I could almost feel the scorching sensation of it trickling down my throat. The sky modelled my affection for the vile drink he held in his hand; a thick crimson cloud obscuring from my view what I sought - light. Another approach to my predicament seemed impossible.

-“Come on then! Take a swig,” said James. “It’ll be good for ya!”

Of course I knew this was complete nonsense. Alcohol was never good for anyone; although, if I accepted it, I would be more reputable in their eyes. Why someone would drink something so repulsive eluded me, yet the taste was nothing compared to its magical respect-giving properties. Its allure was hard to resist; it demanded I dip my tongue into its enchanted iniquity. My hand slowly rose to grab the glass hovering in front of my face.

-“Aight,” I said, as I took the glass in my hand and leaned back. “Only a lil’ though.”

I put the glass to my lips and swallowed a small amount of the fluid. It’s as if it was some sort of potion, where I only needed a sip for it to take effect.

-“There we go! You’re one of us now. Feels good aye?”
-“Yea, it sure does!”

I lied. Well, at least in part. The physical feeling of it in my throat was horrendous, but the recognition I received outweighed the physical discomfort. I felt a pressing warmth against my face - emitted from the fire that my friends and I were gathered around. Inside me I could feel a second, more distant warmth; one which I was becoming increasingly aware of. As much as I would have liked to deny, it was pleasant. A multitude of grinning faces was something I had longed for. Now I dwelt in the presence of acceptance; my lifelong wish had been granted.

A beam of light pierced through the crimson cloud. Maybe drinking wasn’t as bad as I had first thought. Thoughts that had once been melancholic pertaining to alcohol were now replaced by an involuntary thirst for it. I took another sip.

-“Here, have the whole lot!“ said Emma as she handed me a half filled bottle. “You can top up your glass whenever you’re out.”

My throat was beginning to become accustomed to what I once thought to be a poisonous substance. My friends found it amusing watching me pour it into my mouth. The attention fuelled me. Without a clear mind I didn’t even realise that I was allowing my emotions run wild, out of the boundaries of rational thought.

-“You’re quite the drinker aren’t ya?” said James, but I took no notice. I was single-mindedly focused on finishing the bottle. It was as if there was a direct proportionality between how much alcohol coursed through my veins and how accepted I felt.

Someone poured a glass of whisky into the small fire and it erupted into a flaming furore. I bathed myself in the heat which washed over me; the warmth seemed to touch my very soul.

But was it wise to let them have free roam over my decisions? Should I not be guided by rational thinking rather than emotions? I didn’t know but I didn’t care; my inhibitions were long gone, flushed down my gullet with every successive gulp. I drained the bottle, much to the appreciation of my friends, who were now cheering in an alcohol-powered frenzy.

The crimson sky abruptly cleared. A composed and satisfying feeling of acceptance now possessed me. The rest of the night was a blur. My brain couldn’t handle the strain of that much liquor surging through it.

Staggering across the road… was feeling tired… closed eyes… black.