Dec 12, 2011

Paddy on the rye

By Lily Murphy


You are a no good dirty drunk’ she screamed at him as he lay face down on the floor. Tuesday was here, yet Paddy was still struggling out of Monday because Paddy was on the Rye. It had killed his father, it had killed his uncle, it had even killed his oldest brother but Paddy loved Rye whiskey. His first taste of Rye whiskey occurred when he was only twelve years old. When that strong liquor touched his twelve year old tongue he spat and squalled in disgust at such a rotten taste but its after effects proved to be better than the taste and that is what induced Paddy into its ways. Paddy loved rye whiskey and with that Irish blood running thick in his veins, he also suffered from that cultural heritage of an adoration of all things alcohol.

Paddy lay face down on the ground, his nose dug well into the carpet. All of that days dust going right up his nostrils but he could do nothing about it because when Paddy drinks Rye whiskey and drinks a lot of it, Paddy tends to lose his ability to do anything about anything. Before he loses the use of his limbs he firstly loses the grip on his tongue. After many scoops of whiskey, the tongue in Paddy’s head is loosened and sometimes words come slipping and sliding out of his mouth that either gain him friends or gain him enemies. Then Paddy loses all responsibility, then he loses his sight, then his sense, then his legs and then he loses his dignity.

I am leaving you here. I’m not going to break my back picking you up and bringing you to bed, you can get up yourself when that whiskey wears off and you get the use of your legs back’ and off she storms up stairs and into the bedroom leaving her husband in the same way he had entered the house in, when after staggering in through the door he hit the ground face first.

When Paddy is on the rye he transforms into a mighty mess of a man. When Paddy is not on the rye he is the best public representative you could ever envision. Twice mayor and always elected whenever he runs for office and all because when Paddy is not on that rye whiskey he loves so much, he gets things done, Paddy satisfies those who vote for him. But at this moment with his nose dug firmly into the carpet in the sitting room he fell into, Paddy’s on the rye and he is anything but a great man.

Blood Tree | Revelations from a stack of antique postcards

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