by Jasper Stone
At a work party, glass of wine in hand, he said pompously, “When drug addicts quit, even though it rarely lasts, they’re doing what normal people do every day, but act like they should get a god damn medal or something...” I stood slightly outside the circle of people he’d attracted with his boisterous tirade, listening. With each word that spilled from his lips, my heart rate increased. Suddenly, I became aware of the copper taste in my mouth where the blood had begun to trickle from the left side of my bottom lip. The boss - my father - stood there condemning people until his eyes met mine, his daughter, the recovering addict. His alcohol-glazed eyes flinched, and even through my anger, I knew he’d never forgive himself for getting me high for the first time.
Jasper Stone is working on a memoir and a book of poetry. Previous work has been published in 6S, Pen-Pricks Micro Fiction, Mad Swirl, and BluePrintReview. More writing is available in her blog.