Creative writing prompt #27 – Empty glass

Verre de vin rouge

Why me?

Why does it have to be me with fat gibbous lips pressing against my rims, sucking the life out of me, guzzling from the very core of my being?

They all like to cop a feel; they can’t seem to keep their hands off of me.  They’re forever rubbing their dirty, greasy digits all over my voluptuous curves.

I feel so cheap and used.

Oh, and did they tell you what a great singing voice I have?  It’s even better when I’m wet, and they slide their wet finger around my rim; my voice is so sweet and haunting, it makes people tremble and go weak at the knees just to hear it.

Every day it’s this.  I wake up, in bright, fluorescent light, in amongst the humming and clamouring of the people in the bar. They take me from my hard and simple bed; they place my body in warm soapy water, caressing me gently but firmly; they baptise me in cool clear water, cleansing me of my past; they grab me and envelope me in a soft, smelly bar towel and roughly turn me this way and that, rubbing me down inside and out; then they place me back amongst the sinful, waiting my turn.

They know me; I can feel it.  They know my innermost thoughts and desires; bastards that clutch at me and press their mouths against my body. They can see right through me, and they know that whatever guise I assume, that my nature is the same; translucent and yielding.

Oh, but what secrets they yield unto me; what secrets I could tell!  The things they talk about while they pinch and rub my stem between their fingers, run their fingertips around the curve of my bowl; hot, wet tongues probing, exploring.  I have witnessed a lifetime of scandal, banality, tragedy, romance and joy all blending seamlessly into the cycle of my days and nights.

Every night I sit quietly in the darkness with my peers, waiting for the keys to rattle in the door and the cycle to begin again.  I can never sleep, the nights are too short for that, the silence is a mere breath in a long conversation, shattered only by the shriek of my fellows as one of them plunges to their doom and explodes into fragments of light and sound.

I’m still here though, and now I will know you as you raise me to your lips.  Hold me then, caress me, put your mouth to me and drink from me, then leave me empty and tainted by your desire.  Pity me not, you poor, needful creature, for I have no shame and I am free!

Based on a prompt from


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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