Alright; this was written when I was feeling like crap. It's based around a Pink Floyd demo called 'The Doctor'. Youtube it if you wanna. Also; comments are welcome
His fingers were stained. He gazed down at the cold body on the floor; his mind echoing with the screams of the silenced soul. He had to do it. He had to, to survive another day. He knew it was cruel, he knew it was wrong; but if survival meant death, then it was meant to be.
He stood up, muttered a few words; then hid the corpse from sight, burying it beneath the dusty sand. Then he left. The town was a shit-heap anyway; almost as if it was begging to be blown off the map. His mind was going haywire, but he shut it down as he entered the bar. He ordered a shot of Venusian Dragon Whiskey... then another... then another... soon, the bartender had given up and just given him the bottle. It was cheap anyway so a bottle or two wouldn't be missed.
He nodded gratefully, the bartender just shooting him a sympathetic look as he wandered out the door and into the street. He leaned against a wall of a building; clumsily rolling a joint before lighting it and taking a drag. He didn't care if he was mixing grass and liquor; if it'd take away the screaming in his head; he'd be thankful.
The screaming wouldn't stop; the sound just reverberating around his head, slowly dissolving into a single, uninterrupted tone that hurt his hearing. He took a few puffs on his joint to silence the tone; his vision slowly swimming before his eyes. He wandered back to where he knew he'd parked his car last; then crawled into the back seat, still puffing on the small amount remaining in his fingers.
He stared at the smouldering ember, the only thing lighting up the interior of the car before he threw it into the sand; then put the roof over his head. At least he'd be protected if a sandstorm swept through. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume down as he scanned the airwaves. He found a channel; but then immediately regretted it. As much as he loved Pink Floyd; hearing Roger Waters scream his lungs out was NOT the best thing to listen to right now.
He flicked off the radio; then took three large gulps of the whiskey; coughing once he removed the bottle from his mouth. He knew he'd probably have a hangover in the morning; but he didn't care. He finished the remains of the liquor; then shattered the bottle against the wall of the bombed out house as he curled up to sleep; the scream finally silenced.