Drinking.
The light was dim, as if someone had taken all the bulbs and replaced them with fireflies. It was impossible, of course, but the image was there, flickering like the light, licking at the edges of his mind. He drained his drink and shoved the glass towards the bartender, a silent demand that was quickly answered. He looked around at the others that had gathered to drown the rest of their mortality in liquor. All normal men and women on the outside, but he knew better. Oh yes, he knew so very well.
He didn't like coming out like this. In plain sight? Where anyone could see him, recognize him? No. He didn't like it, but at night he had to. That was when the emotions he couldn't control threatened to overtake him.
He sipped his second drink slower than the first, but still drained it faster than was probably good for him. The ways mankind thought up to forget were beyond his comprehension, but not beyond his reach. Or use. He slapped a bill on the bar and reached for his third glass. The alcohol was just beginning to dull the pain that had been building in his center of being. He snorted. 'The center of his being.' He wasn't sure if it was a cliché or not, but it was definitely more accurate than he wanted to acknowledge. Even if he was well on his way to being drunk.
He lifted the drink and found himself mesmerized by the way the soft lights bent and broke while traveling through the glass and the liquid. Light. He missed the way the beams danced, twirled, laughed. How long had it been since he'd walked in the light? In his light? His precious light. He snorted again, brought the glass to his lips and drank the whisky - killing the light.
No longer was it his beloved light. His love was no more, or rather, his love was no longer worth anything. The sun rose and fell and he had nothing to do with it. He could no longer turn and heave a sunbeam at a friend, toss a flicker at a passing fancy. Did he even want to anymore? He didn't know, didn't care.
The fire he felt inside was different, now. No longer a life-fire but neither was it death. Never could be, for him. Humans loved and hated, laughed and cried, lived and died. But for him? Nothing.
He shrugged off the bartenders questioning look, paid for the last drink and grabbed the hat and coat from the stool next to him. There were no horns to hinder the hat he shoved low over his fair hair, and he only barely winced at the weight that hit his now barren back. It was his second week without wings and he still wasn't used to the loss. He pushed his way out into the darkened streets, paused for a moment as if unsure which way to turn, then disappeared into the shadows.
In the bar, the lights slowly flickered back to life and the bartender sighed. He liked the new guy; the tips were always nice when the customer was heartbroken. But as nice and as quiet as the guy was, the lights thing was weird and getting on his last nerves. He shook his head and answered another call for a refill, wondering about the sanity of someone who could dump a nice guy like that.
The light was dim, as if someone had taken all the bulbs and replaced them with fireflies. It was impossible, of course, but the image was there, flickering like the light, licking at the edges of his mind. He drained his drink and shoved the glass towards the bartender, a silent demand that was quickly answered. He looked around at the others that had gathered to drown the rest of their mortality in liquor. All normal men and women on the outside, but he knew better. Oh yes, he knew so very well.
He didn't like coming out like this. In plain sight? Where anyone could see him, recognize him? No. He didn't like it, but at night he had to. That was when the emotions he couldn't control threatened to overtake him.
He sipped his second drink slower than the first, but still drained it faster than was probably good for him. The ways mankind thought up to forget were beyond his comprehension, but not beyond his reach. Or use. He slapped a bill on the bar and reached for his third glass. The alcohol was just beginning to dull the pain that had been building in his center of being. He snorted. 'The center of his being.' He wasn't sure if it was a cliché or not, but it was definitely more accurate than he wanted to acknowledge. Even if he was well on his way to being drunk.
He lifted the drink and found himself mesmerized by the way the soft lights bent and broke while traveling through the glass and the liquid. Light. He missed the way the beams danced, twirled, laughed. How long had it been since he'd walked in the light? In his light? His precious light. He snorted again, brought the glass to his lips and drank the whisky - killing the light.
No longer was it his beloved light. His love was no more, or rather, his love was no longer worth anything. The sun rose and fell and he had nothing to do with it. He could no longer turn and heave a sunbeam at a friend, toss a flicker at a passing fancy. Did he even want to anymore? He didn't know, didn't care.
The fire he felt inside was different, now. No longer a life-fire but neither was it death. Never could be, for him. Humans loved and hated, laughed and cried, lived and died. But for him? Nothing.
He shrugged off the bartenders questioning look, paid for the last drink and grabbed the hat and coat from the stool next to him. There were no horns to hinder the hat he shoved low over his fair hair, and he only barely winced at the weight that hit his now barren back. It was his second week without wings and he still wasn't used to the loss. He pushed his way out into the darkened streets, paused for a moment as if unsure which way to turn, then disappeared into the shadows.
In the bar, the lights slowly flickered back to life and the bartender sighed. He liked the new guy; the tips were always nice when the customer was heartbroken. But as nice and as quiet as the guy was, the lights thing was weird and getting on his last nerves. He shook his head and answered another call for a refill, wondering about the sanity of someone who could dump a nice guy like that.