'Choices' by Alex Herod

She cradles the glass, watching the light dance on the amber liquid before it disappears below the surface. Dipping her head, it smells sweet, warm, welcoming. She lifts the glass to her lips.

 

She grips the glass, watching as the shadow plays in the depths, a beckoning finger. She is drawn in by the smoky, heady scent. She knocks it back into her open, hungry mouth.

 

She circles the rim of the glass with her index finger, head-tilted at the meniscus where fluid meets

 glass. Sitting at arm’s length, she smells nothing. A cat-like gesture nudges the glass to the edge of the

 table, and she smiles as it shatters.