BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Lexie Ray
important ones are fruit, sugar, bread, and water.”
Could it be as simple as that? Willow held the bag open for my inspection, eyeing the door to our cell in case she needed to snatch it away in a hurry. I looked at the contents. It’d been a long time since I’d had a drink, but what was floating in that bag wasn’t appetizing at all. I could even see what looked to be mold covering one of the chunks in the liquid. At such close quarters, the odor became an absolute stench.
“And people drink this?” I asked, recoiling in spite of how eager I’d been.
Willow jerked the bag away from me. “You don’t have to drink any, you know, if you’re so picky.”
I snagged her wrist, stopping her. “I’m sorry. I know I can’t afford to be picky anymore. I—I would like to try it.”
“Damn right you do,” Willow declared. “Now hold this.”
She gave me a pitcher with a shirt stretched over it before slowly pouring the contents of the bag through the shirt. I did my best not to gag at the smell of rot. I wanted this, didn’t I? It wouldn’t do to offend Willow anymore than I already had. I had to live with her, after all.
The shirt acted as a filter and caught the bigger chunks—the fruit and bread, I surmised. The rest of the liquid dripped softly into the pitcher.
Once she’d poured the contents of the bag completely out, Willow gathered the chunks up in the shirt and deposited it into the trash bag. It helped a little bit with the terrible odor, but the liquid in the pitcher still stank. I didn’t know how I was going to be able to stomach it, but my brain demanded that I find I way. I wanted this. No, I needed this. I wanted the buzz, I wanted to take the edge off. This could maybe even help me forget that I was in prison for a time.
“It’s a little tough to stomach, at first,” Willow said, taking the pitcher from me and giving me a plastic cup to hold. “Especially if you’re not used to it. And you’re not. You’re new. But it’ll do the trick. Trust that.”
I tried not to gag as Willow poured a few fingers of the foul liquid into the cup. Now that I was even closer to tasting it, it smelled worse, making my throat close.
“Bottoms up,” Willow said helpfully.
I wanted this, I told myself. I did. I needed this. The shit that had happened in the holding cell during my trial—that was an anomaly. That was simply because I’d stopped drinking. I never had to stop drinking, now. I could sink into a stupor any time I wanted with Willow’s simple recipe for hooch.
I tipped the cup back and emptied it into my mouth, pushing past the disgusting taste, the wretched burn on my tongue and scorch down my throat all the way to my belly. I came up gasping and choking, coughing as the hateful brew curdled in my stomach.
“Quiet,” Willow hissed, trying to shush me. I grabbed my pillow and tried to mask my coughing with that, relieved when the fit passed and the hooch stayed firmly in my stomach.
“Holy shit,” I said quietly. “Holy shit.”
“I make a good hooch, Wanda,” Willow said, winking at me. “Stick with me, and you’ll never be thirsty again.”
I thanked whatever God was looking out for me for getting me paired with the girl who could keep me in as much liquor as I could drink.
“More,” I suggested, offering my cup.
“She likes it,” Willow observed, her eyes glowing. She poured me some more, then took a draught herself straight from the pitcher. “Goddamn, that is good. I don’t know what it was, but there’s a higher alcohol content in this one.”
“How can you tell?” I asked, throwing back the hooch in my cup.
“Less rotten taste, more gasoline taste,” she said wisely, filling my cup again.
“Aren’t you going to save some?” I asked, eyeing the dwindling pitcher and draining my cup.
“I’ll just start another brew as soon as I get the materials,” Willow said. “The jig’s up if the guards smell it. It’s hard to keep it concealed once
Could it be as simple as that? Willow held the bag open for my inspection, eyeing the door to our cell in case she needed to snatch it away in a hurry. I looked at the contents. It’d been a long time since I’d had a drink, but what was floating in that bag wasn’t appetizing at all. I could even see what looked to be mold covering one of the chunks in the liquid. At such close quarters, the odor became an absolute stench.
“And people drink this?” I asked, recoiling in spite of how eager I’d been.
Willow jerked the bag away from me. “You don’t have to drink any, you know, if you’re so picky.”
I snagged her wrist, stopping her. “I’m sorry. I know I can’t afford to be picky anymore. I—I would like to try it.”
“Damn right you do,” Willow declared. “Now hold this.”
She gave me a pitcher with a shirt stretched over it before slowly pouring the contents of the bag through the shirt. I did my best not to gag at the smell of rot. I wanted this, didn’t I? It wouldn’t do to offend Willow anymore than I already had. I had to live with her, after all.
The shirt acted as a filter and caught the bigger chunks—the fruit and bread, I surmised. The rest of the liquid dripped softly into the pitcher.
Once she’d poured the contents of the bag completely out, Willow gathered the chunks up in the shirt and deposited it into the trash bag. It helped a little bit with the terrible odor, but the liquid in the pitcher still stank. I didn’t know how I was going to be able to stomach it, but my brain demanded that I find I way. I wanted this. No, I needed this. I wanted the buzz, I wanted to take the edge off. This could maybe even help me forget that I was in prison for a time.
“It’s a little tough to stomach, at first,” Willow said, taking the pitcher from me and giving me a plastic cup to hold. “Especially if you’re not used to it. And you’re not. You’re new. But it’ll do the trick. Trust that.”
I tried not to gag as Willow poured a few fingers of the foul liquid into the cup. Now that I was even closer to tasting it, it smelled worse, making my throat close.
“Bottoms up,” Willow said helpfully.
I wanted this, I told myself. I did. I needed this. The shit that had happened in the holding cell during my trial—that was an anomaly. That was simply because I’d stopped drinking. I never had to stop drinking, now. I could sink into a stupor any time I wanted with Willow’s simple recipe for hooch.
I tipped the cup back and emptied it into my mouth, pushing past the disgusting taste, the wretched burn on my tongue and scorch down my throat all the way to my belly. I came up gasping and choking, coughing as the hateful brew curdled in my stomach.
“Quiet,” Willow hissed, trying to shush me. I grabbed my pillow and tried to mask my coughing with that, relieved when the fit passed and the hooch stayed firmly in my stomach.
“Holy shit,” I said quietly. “Holy shit.”
“I make a good hooch, Wanda,” Willow said, winking at me. “Stick with me, and you’ll never be thirsty again.”
I thanked whatever God was looking out for me for getting me paired with the girl who could keep me in as much liquor as I could drink.
“More,” I suggested, offering my cup.
“She likes it,” Willow observed, her eyes glowing. She poured me some more, then took a draught herself straight from the pitcher. “Goddamn, that is good. I don’t know what it was, but there’s a higher alcohol content in this one.”
“How can you tell?” I asked, throwing back the hooch in my cup.
“Less rotten taste, more gasoline taste,” she said wisely, filling my cup again.
“Aren’t you going to save some?” I asked, eyeing the dwindling pitcher and draining my cup.
“I’ll just start another brew as soon as I get the materials,” Willow said. “The jig’s up if the guards smell it. It’s hard to keep it concealed once