To begin I must apologies: two cans of Apple Cider and a litre of Smirnoff Ice later, this is what my mind produced. I present to you a drabble from the point of view of a character who explains my life better than no other.

If Only

by

Eight Horcrux

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He drank because it was all he knew. He drank because it was all he could do. Every swig of that cool bottle he took brought him closer to happiness than he had ever been before. He was open, confident, charismatic. There were conversations in his mind; so many, too many. A little boy cried in the darkest corners of his memory, and no matter what Severus done to eliminate that cry, no matter how many swigs he took, it grew louder and louder. His fingers found his hair, he tugged and pulled, clawing at his own face. That final swig brought sorrow; the bottle was empty, he was empty and he stared… there was little else to do now, so he sat and thought his deepest thoughts and oh, how pathetic they were.

If only, if only.

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