Harper drabble, take one
Harper leaned against the counter. Casually. Coolly. To collect his thoughts. Certainly not because he couldn’t stand up straight without support.
His hand shook as he poured himself a tumbler full of whiskey. Normally, he would have reprimanded himself for sloshing it on the countertop, but as it was, the splash caught the light just right. The pattern looked almost intentional in its abstraction. It was like a painting that the fates had arranged for him to be the sole viewer of.
Ice clicked against the sides of his glass as he raised it to his lips- a strangely loud sound in the reverent silence of his kitchen. He stilled his hand. Vaguely, he could hear the rumble of traffic outside. The clock accused him, second by second, in short bursts of rhythmic clicking that seemed to grow louder the more he focused on them.
The ring of spilled whiskey- distorted since he’d removed his glass from the countertop- had formed itself into a monstrous frown. He stared at it blearily for a while before sinking to the floor, glass in hand. It all seemed so meaningful now- his guts a tight mess of knots- but he knew that in the morning he’d just be one more guy with a headache and a countertop in need of cleaning.
His hand shook as he poured himself a tumbler full of whiskey. Normally, he would have reprimanded himself for sloshing it on the countertop, but as it was, the splash caught the light just right. The pattern looked almost intentional in its abstraction. It was like a painting that the fates had arranged for him to be the sole viewer of.
Ice clicked against the sides of his glass as he raised it to his lips- a strangely loud sound in the reverent silence of his kitchen. He stilled his hand. Vaguely, he could hear the rumble of traffic outside. The clock accused him, second by second, in short bursts of rhythmic clicking that seemed to grow louder the more he focused on them.
The ring of spilled whiskey- distorted since he’d removed his glass from the countertop- had formed itself into a monstrous frown. He stared at it blearily for a while before sinking to the floor, glass in hand. It all seemed so meaningful now- his guts a tight mess of knots- but he knew that in the morning he’d just be one more guy with a headache and a countertop in need of cleaning.