Blinded by the Bottle

Bella Suarez

The bright, blinding sun shone through the clean, kept glass pane, always glaring directly into his eyes, blinding him to what was in front. The uncomfortable wooden chair underneath him was the only thing grounding him to what was happening. The large expanse of the courtroom echoes any noise made: the constant murmurs of the people behind him, the judge talking, his attorney trying to put some sense into him. But he hears none of it—not when he knows what the outcome will be.

He knows he shouldn’t have done it. Knows there was no going back. But the minute his hand touched the bottle. The cold, wet bottle, he knew there was no going back. He spent hours there. Laughing and smiling and constantly drinking his sorrows away. And yet with no single thought, he got into the car. Drunk out of his mind, speeding and winding and no stopping. 

He sees it in the family’s eyes: the despair, the hatred, and the anger. All directed towards him. He tries to meet their eyes, but he can’t—a mother’s face, filled with grief. The father, barely holding on, jaw clenched and hands gripping the bench. He doesn’t blame them, only himself. But it means nothing now.

The voice of the judge cuts through the constant static playing in his head. Something about a maximum sentence. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He simply nods, like he understands, like he regrets it. He does regret it, but it won’t bring anyone back.

The bailiff continues to stalk towards him. He knows what’s about to happen. One last glance around the courtroom. Not at the ceiling, the floors, or the now-empty witness stand. But the family. He won’t ever forget their faces.