Whiskey Sour

You can’t stand by and bear witness to the destruction of more than your marriage, more than your hopes and dreams.

A spoonful of powdered sugar helps the medicine go down.

You can’t bear witness to the destruction of her.

So you dodge the vase as it crashes against the wall behind you, and you close your ears to the venom escaping her throat, and you concentrate on your feet as they carry you out the back door, across the porch, down the path covered in decaying leaves.

Your battered heart beats a tattoo in time with your measured steps, a cyclone in your mind whirling around one thought:

Can’t, it whispers. Do this. It feels like a death rattle inside your head.

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

She was life and she was benediction. It’s killing you that you can’t save her.

Every plea has fallen unheard. Interventions and promises turned to ash.

A hero to the world, savior of none.

One little piece at a time, lost bits of your soul lining the path to the lake like decaying leaves.

Can a maraschino cherry be a Horcrux?

Life’s a bowl of cherries.

And you’re done.

~~***~~***~~

Originally written for round two of pphp_ldws on Live Journal.

Prompt: A witness, A lake, A lost item. 199 words exactly.