A Night In Shattered Armor (One Shot)

[shxta]

Elle Maynard | District 12 Says, Thinks, Does One, Two, Three, Drink The edge of the bottle pierces my lips. The Devilish goodness, though hesitantly, claws down my throat, leaving a burning trail that can only be described as tempting. It rages into my gut and settles, sending fumes into my mind allowing my body to dis-inhabit itself. The best feelings are those you don't remember. It leaves a mystery and a desire to feel it again. To understand the toxins. To think about it long enough, that you mind can't let the memory go. However, as you can guess, you're always still searching. I stare straight upwards, towards the skies. Night is magnificent. It cuts off your eyes, leaving you blind. It forces you to use sound and touch to navigate. Yet, it's full of stars, specs of light that should illuminate the path, but you still can't see. Fortunately, I don't need to see. I've been here enough, that I can tell you there is a dark green waste bucket to the right of me. A pile of trash in front of me, and something--something-- dead in front of me. I wish night took away my smell. I sit against one of the two brick buildings that create this ally. My right leg is extended outward, and my left knee is propped up to support my arm leaning against it. My other arm provides my fuel source. My reason for living, the liquor. He shields me from fear. He conquers the night and gives the power to me, his queen. I bring the bottle towards my mouth again. My hair attaches itself to the edge of the bottle and gets stuck in my mouth. I give a couple short spits to remove them and then brush my hand across my head to put my hair back in place. Then, I keep drinking. Drinking, chugging, gulping, until the bottle is empty. Whatever is left is moisture. Cold, Delicious moisture. I breathe deeply in and let out a sigh of pleasure. And without warning, the alcohol isn't in my body. It's on the ground. With a complete 180, I was on my hands and knees spitting. It kept coming. I let it come, I wanted it out. Liquor, though delicious and heroic, is dangerous. My body is a temple. One that needs a cleaning staff. Pointer and Middle. The extraction was painful. More-so than usual. I jerk my head upwards and force myself to my feet. The pain migrates north from my stomach to my head. "Damn it!" I scream. The clutch the bottle by it's neck like it's a lighter and slam it into the wall. The pieces dissipate into an array of sparkling dust onto the ground. I need a noise, something to distract me from the pain, but there is nothing but the sounds of my whimpering. One drip of water slithers onto my cheek but I keep fighting through. The pain was enough to stop drinking. If I could remember it. I wanna swing from the chandelier. I wanna live like tomorrow doesn't exist.