Lucille VII

“Where am I?” I wondered, looking around, head bobbing like a boat lost at sea, surviving a stormy night. I raised my hand and looked at the hair follicles that covered the back of it and curled up my arm. I counted every single one. “Six hundred and seventy three.” My pupils wide, or so I could see from the reflection on the spoon resting on the table. I used my napkin to wipe the small droplets of drool leaking from the gruff of my moustache. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I squeezed my nose, and wiped the sweat from my brow. I stroked my hand through my hair and stared back at them.

“Why are people here? I’m at my house, aren’t I?”

A waiter approached me. “Good evening, sir… have you decided what to eat yet?” He asked.

“The pea and ham soup for starters please.” I had to close my eyes for a second. When he turned to leave, my hand grabbed his arm. “Whiskey, as well. The bottle.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you.” I released him and almost fell off my seat. When I adjusted myself on my seat, I checked the inner-pocket of my dark grey dinner jacket in search for what was left of my opium.

“Goddammit” I muttered. This bottle had lasted me two weeks. I shook it, and opened my mouth in hope to suck in the remaining vapour. I pulled out my pocket watch and checked the time,

“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” I closed my pocket watch. It was silver, and was shiny.

“6… 7… 8… 9.. 10” I opened my pocket watch again, “Quarter to eight.”

I shook my head, and tried to pull myself together “Lucille should be here soon, I need to be of sound mind.”

I closed my eyes again, and slowly breathed. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. In through my mouth, and out through my nose…

“I shouldn’t have taken this shit…” I wiped the sweat from my brow once more and muttered, “I need more.”

By the time dinner had arrived, I knew where I was. “The King’s arms.” I looked around, and announced to the waiter, “I can’t start without Lucille.” He kept the dinner in steel containers. The hot plate, turned warm and time ticked on. After forty-five minutes, I decided to eat the soup and leave. I took the bottle of whiskey with me. I shrugged the waiter’s arm off of mine, he pitied me.

I walked down the road kicking a few loose stones across the pavement. “Why would Lucille not attend my dinner? I invited her, I was pleasant. I bet it was that whoreson Thomas. I know who you are, Rich-kid, in-bred swine.” I smashed the bottle on the floor, and headed for a crossing. Across the road was a carriage, waiting outside an old building. It seemed posh, and rather fashionable.

I stumbled across, with a keen eye. There she was, “Lucille…” I whispered. She entered the carriage with Thomas, “That’s it…” I firmly handled my silver handled razor-blade in my pocket. I imagine everything I could to do him. I could ruin his face, so she will never love him…

“Or I could ruin her’s for rejecting me…”

I gave a harsh stare at the carriage, and caught Lucille’s eye. Still, her power over me was strong and my heart raced when she noticed me. Could this be love?

Time will give me the answers I need. I have time. I need more opium.


If you want to read the previous account of Lucille, please check Meg’s blog. See what Lucille has been doing.


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