The first day is always the toughest.
Her hands trembled, her mouth watered, and her stomach hurt. There was nothing and no one around to calm the aches and pains. Nothing to take the edge off, no relief in sight.
She was brought here to this padded cell after she came home last night after yet another night out on the town. She tried to sneak in the house like she always did, but they were there, all of them, sitting in the living room-
When she saw their faces in the low lamp light, her high was blown.
She immediately thought of the first day.
The first day after being locked away in a rehab center; the way it felt the first day after the good feeling from heroin shot in the arm the night before began to fade to black.
The first day was always the day the hands trembled, the mouth watered and the stomach hurt.
The first day was always the toughest.
If she could make it through the first day, she could probably make it through the second, the third. . . the tenth.
But she feared, as usual, the further she got from the first day, the closer she got to another first day. . .
And the cycle would start all over again.
Women of Color Writing Workshop, a piece that is 2 years old. Writing prompt: write for 5 minutes a story using the prompt "The First Day".
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