Bernard Black, owner of Black Books, was lying hopelessly in bed trying to get the last few winks of sleep before the massive hangover kicked in.
Last night, he had yet again drunk the several cheap red and white wine bottles down to the last drop. The glass of wine on the floor from last night spilt as he crumbled out of bed.
"Ar..what?" he dimly stated, too drunk to even notice the red stain crawling up his dirty bed sheets.
The air felt damp with the condensation of alcohol floating through the now red atmosphere. The wine that soaked itself into his bedsheets grew voices, it shouted up to him, telling him:
'Drink more, MORE!'
'Yes master' he stood up, limply walking to his door, holding his arms out in zombie fashion and gallavanted down the stairs to his secret stash of wiskey in his biscuitbox located on top of the highest shelf in the kitchen.
'Must have more, must have more, oh for...' he looked with disgust.
The box was empty.
He needed to find a drop of alcohol before the morning otherwise he'd.. he'd.. he'd do something wrong at least.
He rummaged through the drawers of the kitchen, throwing them across the room for the high punishment of not holding any drink what-so-ever. After looking through the cupboard, the infinite drawers and the cooker, not one drop was to be consumed anywhere..anywhere...wait, what's that on the desk?...
He started to squint to his table, was it... a wine bottle! He tried to move but couldn't.
He slumped to the floor, his head against the table, in exhausion of his energy.
Before succumbing to sleep, he just wanted: 'Drink..drink..drink'