To Smile Again
Laughing. He remembered laughing. It was a dim and distant memory though. Laughing, smiling, breathing. He had to remind himself to breathe now, because if he didn't he would just stop. And he wanted to, oh how he wanted to stop. If he stopped he would never think, never know, never feel again, and didn't that sound grand. But for some reason, every time he tried, he wanted one more gasp of air, one more look at the sky, one more day. So stopping just wasn't possible. But drinking. Oh yes, drinking was entirely possible. Pint after shot after pint. Vodka, lager, rum, whiskey, he wasn't fussed, as long as it got him plastered, so he didn't have to think. It was the not thinking that he needed. The not remembering. It was when he sobered up that the stark reality came back to him, and it made him heave. Made him sick to the pit of his stomach that in two days he lost all his friends. Three dead, one changed beyond belief. He died, every morning he had to wake up it. Had to face another day. He couldn't bring himself to smile. Not even the ghost of one dancing on his lips. He didn't think he would ever smile again.