Her Only Friends
Meta drank red wine out of a teacup. It clinked against the dainty saucer. Her friends stared at her, their tattered fringe like split-ends, their gazing buttons still as they stretched the paisley upholstery.
She didn't hear herself think that. She drained the wine from the teacup, sat it in the saucer, then picked it up and drank again. She got buzzed from the empty china, teetered in her chair. Two legs lifted off the floor before clapping down against the hardwood.
"Scale of one to ten," she said, "how drunk are you?"
The pillows stared at her with unblinking buttons so she asked the lamp. It shook its shade and didn't respond.
Victoria Griffin
Victoria is an East Tennessee native, currently studying English and playing Softball at Campbell University. When she is not on the field or in the library, you can find her running on a back road or stretched out in a hammock. Her short fiction has appeared recently in Synaethesia Magazine and FLARE: The Flagler Review, among others. Find her at VictoriaGriffinFiction.com and on Twitter @victoria_grif7.