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    Don't Be a Sally: Based on True Events
    Don't Be a Sally: Based on True Events
    Don't Be a Sally: Based on True Events
    Ebook50 pages44 minutes

    Don't Be a Sally: Based on True Events

    By Matthew Taggart

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    About this ebook

    We drink. My cousin drinks the most. This is not a story for the faint of heart. This story is what I saw and what I lived while being with Adam. If you drink, take a shot, or have a beer when reading this. Go on the deck and rescue your wine from it's hiding spot. Cheers.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateJul 2, 2013
    ISBN9781483503097
    Don't Be a Sally: Based on True Events

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      Book preview

      Don't Be a Sally - Matthew Taggart

      appreciated.

      Chapter One

      He wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He opened his eyes and saw light, bright light. Light as though it belonged to another world, light. His eyes hurt, he rubbed them.

      What did he see? The light simmered down some. He saw white. Not light white, but ceramic white. The white you might see in the hospital, or maybe the morgue. He felt he belonged in the morgue.

      The brightness came back and he wondered what gave the light the permission to blind him. He rubbed his eyes again and put his head against his forearm. It felt warm. Warm like he’d been lying exactly like this for a few hours warm. He struggled to open his eyes again, more white light. The back of a tub made itself apparent to him. And now that he was looking at it, it wasn’t that white. It was grimy. The rings of grime came to the absolute top of the tub.

      He braced himself and pushed himself up. He was lying in a tub. His head was throbbing, he wasn’t sure what tub. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he could smell vomit and he was sure he had vomit on him. His eyes were deceiving him and when he tried to open them wide and take the reality in, they felt crusty and heavy and closed again. He rubbed them, again. This time he could feel small particles of something falling off of his face.

      He kept his eyes closed and felt for a knob. He had to reach way, way in back. Finally he felt a metal object, though he wasn’t sure what it was. He pulled on the metal object and nothing. He twisted the object and nothing. He rubbed his eyes again and more filth fell onto the surface of the tub. His stomach lurched and his back rose. His throat opened yet as though he were going to choke and never breathe again. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears rang. He was in hell. He was sure of it. This moment, this feeling of sickness of pure hatred for what he’d felt, was hell. Welcome to hell.

      No vomit came from his stomach. No vomit came from his throat and no vomit came from his mouth. His mid-section wretched up and down looking like an October cat in a filthy dance. Up and down, his body rose and nothing came out. Yet he smelt his own vomit lingering all about him. Again he rose up and again he produced nothing. Beads of sweat were on his forehead, it wasn’t long before they fell onto the surface of the tub. He lurched heavily downward with a massive cough and something came up. Something vile and red landed onto the tub’s floor. Black. He saw nothing but black as he slowly faded and fainted again.

      White, a splashing white. His eyes felt burnt. He rubbed them yet again and felt as though he’d done this a hundred times, no a thousand times. He smelt vomit and he remembered trying to vomit and the immense pain he’d felt. Was that only a few moments ago or a few nights ago?

      He pushed himself from the same tub floor, this time with more strength. He saw blood and streaks of blood running down the bottom of the bathtub. He knew the water wasn’t on because he’d tried that and it hadn’t worked. He was thinking more clearly but not clearly enough to know where he was.

      He shakily rose and viewed the awful tub floor below. The horrific scene below him seemed to be swaying.

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