A Deserted Soul

Part 1 - Another Similar Day With A Little Twist

I drink, I drink every night, the only way I can stop thinking is by drinking, my daunting past, all the shit my life have offered me, the utter disappointment you feel when you think that life will be rewarding after a certain amount of pain you've experienced... that makes you think... while I can still see the difference between black and white I stand up and exit the bar, not that I stopped drinking for the night, there's a full bottle of scotch and pain killers waiting for me at home.

 On my way home on the deserted and dark streets of my town, a man runs out from an even darker corner, he looks back, and so do I, the moment I do, I see two shady looking cheap criminals with kitchen knives in their hands, but as cheap as they look, it's still a numb feeling, your heart goes on a race with your brain, but I'm trained to sustain fear, I'm a cop after all... unlike me, the kid who was running away was very scared, he pleased not to be killed, the criminals though... didn't seem to care about his wishes, as they were coming closer to him, the scared boy spotted me. And with a tiny piece of hope in himself he called me to help, the two little rascals didn't see me as a threat, they told me to fuck off, and they called me an old man, not that I was old, but I was just walking slow, being this kind of stereotypes, it didn't take me too long to interfere, and as an ex cop, it was sort of a natural habit to interfere. "What about you two rascals come here and say that to my face?" I said, now I didn't know what was gonna happen next, or if I was gonna get hurt, but one thing I always knew is that if you wanna walk around in this town, this late, you have to have a backup plan, which I always had, it was in my back pocket, the two punks started walking towards me, and I noticed that they didn't have any personal level job with the scared kid, he was only scared, and they had fun, I tell the kid to go home, and so he does, but one problem, I still had these two rascals up my face, holding their kitchen knives they can't even hold properly. If I was back in my old days I would've talk some sense upon them, but this time I was on a rush, I backed off a few steps for safety reasons, and then I reached for my gun, I got my old partner out and the punks definitely didn't expect to see an old man with a gun. I saw the fear in their eyes although I couldn't see the numbers on the banknotes I was giving in the bar, I told them to go home, on which they didn't hesitate.

 Soon after, I was left alone to walk my path. I got to my apartment, with pretty much closed eyes, I happen to remember routes, especially those I walk on for six years in a row, I hang my jacket on my coat rack and head over to my kitchen cabinet where my fine scotch awaits for me, even though it's a thirty dollar scotch from a shady market up at the corner, it can do its job, it can make me wasted. And the pain killers, they're all around the apartment, I just search for them in pitch black. They help... I'm lying to myself...