He could hear the rattling down the hallway. It shook loose memories for his escape. Of happiness in its infancy, recollections of the joy in new and unexplored things. The jostling of jubilant beads was then the backdrop of a family just beginning to stir. He could hear the rattling down the hallway, but diazepam diluted the hollow clatter of the translucent plastic.
He could hear the creaking of the cabinet. The low, solemn moan of change. The weeping through phones full of static. The blurred sight of four feet through empty bottles and the rickety door that followed. The hinges aching while aiding withdrawal from his addiction. The redefining of visitation rights. Her footfalls across tacky tiles. The hinges inconsolable at her hands. He could hear the creaking of the cabinet, but never heard her twist off any of the caps.
He could hear the rattling down the hallway.
An AdHoc Fiction entry for Issue 139, prompted by the mandatory word ‘Twist.’ Participants, whether reading or writing, are welcome to drop in.