((Warning: Language/content/drug use/other. I don't condone anything you might read here and all that good stuff. If it's too strong I can take it down.))


How pathetic he must have looked.

A grown man- halved in consciousness and reduced to the sorry mess slumped over the cold countertop with his twitching fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of a bottle. Its contents had been drained, burning his throat on the way down. Now, jagged edges replaced the bottom, cracks snaked up the flat sides underneath the black label, and shards of it glittered among puddles of liquor on the linoleum floor underneath cheap fluorescent lighting. It was fractured and bled dry, only a worthless piece of trash in light of its former appeal of smooth glass and rich amber liquid.

Tremors ran throughout his shoulders and his arms, pulling muscles into tight spasms, and his chest felt hollow. His heart, what remained of it, raced furiously at what seemed like a thousand beats per minute. It cost good money to delve back into the deplorable world of bleached white powder and filthy junkies.
Welcome back, we missed you.
Dull teeth grinded firmly together beyond his control as bloodshot eyes crawled to the sight of a twenty dollar bill sitting across the counter, unfurled now from its tightly rolled passage. The simple white line-and-a-half that remained seemed so enormous when it was inches away and leveled with his vision. The perspective made them look like pure, snowy dunes and each stray granule was a fallen star come to rest on a solid black mirrored lake.

Oh, the wonders of drugs. Everything else in this godforsaken world could crumble and fall away, but they would always remain. Why constantly wonder who is a real friend when they are sitting right there? Always quick to relieve your stress and swallow your pain; give you that valiant charge? No human can do that. Humans are the scum of the Earth, after all. Look what they did to you, and hell, look what you did in return. Can you even call yourself human? You, my friend, are the scum of the Earth. Destroyer of good. By now, the lesson should be learned. You promised not to gift yourself with friends, broke that promise like you broke that bottle, and just look where it got you. Serves you damn right, too. If anything, they should be pitied having to deal with the likes of a fear-mongering tyrant. You don’t deserve them, you deserve fuck-all.

He couldn’t talk back if he wanted to. The last traces of his voice had disappeared hours ago in furious shouts at the living room wall and animalistic growls, substituting it instead with a raw choking pain in his throat. The obnoxious heavy clinking of glass broke the silence as he released the splintered bottle from his grasp onto the black countertop. His hands hardened into fists, knuckles sore red and smeared with dried blood. Empty voids marred the drywall behind him as a testament to the unfiltered anger that had amassed and torn free like a hellish beast the night beforehand.
Satan laughed.

Eyelids heavy, he used all the power he could to lift his head off the black faux granite. Beyond the dusty white mountains and powdered edge of a blade, a tall forest of glass, labels, and varying levels of liquid stood solemnly. An unsteady hand reached towards the trees, inadvertently knocking them over onto the floor with multiple thunderous smashes as his fingers wrapped around an object hidden among them. He slid it closer and shakily lifted it up, but it felt pounds heavier than normal. He had to wrap both hands around its flourished stock to keep it steady as he brought it closer to his face. The smooth, cold metal was calming as the muzzle pressed up against his forehead. Thumb steady on the hammer, he pulled it back into position and stared pleadingly ahead. The trigger tensed as his finger tightened around it, and finally it gave way.

Click.

He didn’t flinch. Hammer- trigger- he pulled it again and the chamber skipped to the next empty round.

Click. Again. Click. Again. Click.

All six rounds were bare. He had flipped open the chamber and let the rounds clatter to the ground hours ago, knowing he’d be tempted at some point. It was a good idea then.
A low snarl escaped his lips and he slammed the gun down with full force, cracking the dark surface.
Hazy but furious, he leaned over and grabbed a half-empty bottle, one of the few left standing.
Drink until it comes back up.
At no point had he wanted the wanted that poison to kill him more. The harsh fuel blazed like lit gasoline and ignited his chest from the inside. It was sickening to knock back even more liquor, especially in his current state, and he couldn’t care less how exceptionally stupid it was. Consequences meant nothing.

He was able to drain the last of the bottle a mere minute before his dim apartment blurred and faded around him, an eerie static pitch filled his ears, and his head hit the counter once more.