Prompt 21: Alcohol
A/N: This one's a bit dark, folks. Set between Mr. Krabs' leave from the war and the opening of the Krusty Krab.
...
"AAGHHH!"
Eugene H. Krabs shot up, having just had another nightmare about the war he had just left.
"Oh, dear merciful Neptune...those poor lost souls- lost in a cruel, cruel war!" He lamented, covering his eyes with his claws. He hadn't been the same crab who cheerfully marched off to serve Bikini Bottom ever since he came home-rather, the shell of the most hard shelled man in his Navy regiment.
He couldn't sleep. He couldn't talk to anyone. He barely ate- not even his famous Krabby Patty sandwiches he invented in his youth was tantalising enough to him. He looked horrific, with bags under his eyes, saggy shoulders, wearied walk- not even his own mother would recognise him now.
So many...too many for Eugene. He felt his chest clench as he thought about them. Them- the ones who didn't survive.
Reaching to his bedside table, he picked up a small bottle and unscrewed the lid, before raising it to his lips and letting its sweetness wash over his tongue and into his throat. Slowly, he noticed the memories of his friends fade...and felt dullness in his heart where the heartbreak- at watching so many die needlessly- had been previously.
Some of those dead had just been mere boys- boys not old enough to taste the world's greatest pleasures, let alone death.
He drank just one more drop, and drunk and drunk until he had knocked back a whole bottle of rum. Then, feeling overcome with dizziness and drunkenness, he flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes, wondering what his dead comrades would think of him now...