Cough Syrup
So what?
They congratulate me, shower me with riches, food. Yay for me.
So, I won. It doesn't matter. I'll always be haunted by the Games. Life's too short to even care at all.
You know what's good? Liquor. It helps me keep my sanity. I can't sponsor these kids. They don't stand a chance.
And they all die.
I should have found my fortune when I got out of the arena. But what did I find instead? Hell.
My family is dead. My girl, too. Gone because of my stunt with the forcefield. But so what? I have whisky.
Maybe if they were alive, I'd stop. She'd beg me to quit, tell me I'll get alcohol poisoning. Sounds good to me.
Life's too short to even care at all. I'm letting go. So what?
District Twelve is darker now than ever. I would long for the sun, but in this hangover it would just cause more pain.
I can't see straight. My thoughts are a blur. There's vomit on my shirt. Why is the wind so loud?
They told me life would be better now. That it would be restored. Liars.
So I unscrew the cap.
Tip the bottle.
Pour the liquor.
Grasp the glass.
Swallow.
Ah.
Again, I don't own this character or the song. And this story wasn't about cough syrup, but the idea of the song is still along the same lines.
