Write for 2o minutes - no editing.
Write from the Point of View of a glass on the edge of the table.
The last thing i remember is her taking me out of the cupboard and filling me with Merlot. I can still feel the way the warm liquid sloshed on my sides and she swayed to the victrola. I've never heard this song before. She sings to herslef as she sips from my side.
Scarlet Sweetheart is the colour of her lipstick. Now it adorn me, the waxy feel of her lips and tongue excite me. She is decked out in pearls and lace. I can't remember the last time i was out. She's celebrating something.
A knock ont he door startles her. She puts me on the piano and leaves the room. I can feel the warm sunset on my etched crystal as it shines throught the burgundy drapes - the colour of the liquid i'm holding.
I can hear her in the other room. She is no longer alone. Another voice? A man's voice. Murmurs outside the parlour.
She returns and the burly blond man with the mustache follows her in. They argue. She walks to the window and says words to him - i don't understand. They are foreign and hard sounding, not the gentle flow of English i am used to.
She turns to him and laughs - i can tell that it is not a laugh of joy, but of fear.
Suddenly, i am lifted in the air by the frightening man. He moves me too harshly and the waves of wine cascade over my side and onto the carpet below.
She yelps and rushes to pull me from his hand. She and i walk over to the sofa and sit. Once more, she sips from my edges. Her soft warm lips on my, her sweet tongue catching a misguided drop. Her soft hands cradling my found body. She puts me on the table. It is the last time i feel her.
The man is upset. He rounds the table and grabs her wrists and pulls her from the sofa - she hangs there - suspended by his strong arms. She is crying now. "No, no" she says. I understand those words.
i am scared. She tries to pull away from him but he is too strong for her.
the commotion jostles the table and suddenly i am caught by vertigo. The world is upside down, and as i topple over, i can't see her anymore.
As i land on the table, i feel a large crack at my stem and i am in agony as it makes its path to my rim.
As the wine splashes onto the table and the floor, i see the large man huddled over top of her breathing heavily.
As the last drops flow from my broken shell hee rises and walks to the door. She does not move. His hands are red. I can see from my spot on the edge of the table that the floor is rapidly flowing red, and i know that that is not my wine.
The sun has set and the room has gone dark. The victrola has stopped its music some time back.
The wine on the table is black from the darkness.
It's quiet in here.
Dark and quiet.