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 Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 8:50 pm
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 9:05 pm
i.
Once upon a time, the taste of alcohol had been a foreign burning sensation running down his throat. He remembers parties with flashing lights and fuzzy silhouettes of friends, companions of a past life. He remembers grasping his glass by the edges, swirling the ice cubes once he’s downed the soda. The fire running down his throat cannot compare to the sight of his friends tripping over each other, clumsily flirting with sober party goers. It was better to be sober and remember than to be drunk and forget.
The taste of alcohol was so unfamiliar, but the pain is a welcome change. If it means being able to forget everything, this is alright. Gloved hands grip the bottle’s neck and chugs down as much and as quickly as he can. There is no meaning of becoming a shade of his former self unless he goes hard.
“A shade,” he says in a deep murmur. “What a lie.” He swirls the remaining beer in the bottle. “Tomorrow you’re just going to be another liar.”
“But it’s so much more comfortable that way,” he answers in a higher voice, his usual voice.
He swings his head back to down the last of the drink. It’s just a half-baked version of you. What’s so special about that?
Oh.
He supposes this is true.
He gently clangs the bottom of his bottle against the pavement.
One. Three. Five. Forget, forget, forget, and wash away the regret with another mouthful of liquid fire.
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