Side note: The author doesn't know what it's like to be drunk. The author is a minor so if it doesn't match up I'm sorry for being a law abiding citizen
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ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ 𝕬 ׁ֢ ˖ part five — fate's marionettes
The scenery around was grotesque. Men who stood outside held onto whatever there was that they could hold onto and what made all of this all the more intriguing was how there were also men who were trying to drag them, holding them by the legs, pulling them. Loud screams for help surrounded him as he sat in a cramped yellow cab.
Something in him told him to turn around and sit back. The ride was confined, not bad, he didn't need to be intoxicated to get through it. He told himself that he'd waited his entire life for this, tolerated so many snide remarks just for this, a cranky ride shouldn't bother him. But it did, he could feel everything putting him on edge. Maybe this was what tampered with his decision. That had to be it, it wasn't normal for him to mess with things that aren't his business. But then again, neither was being in Bangalore, neither was being assigned to kill someone who practically owned him.
And maybe that was why he was willing to do the walk to hell, even when people were practically begging him to turn around, sit back down and behave, at least then he'd live. Maybe it was the fact that he wanted to know who was powerful enough to take the bull by its horns, maybe he wanted trouble. Or maybe it was both, it didn't really matter to him.
A party meant that there'd be alcohol right? Yes, maybe that is it.
This was for alcohol. Nothing else. Even if his walk was unsteady, his mind was determined. False goals filled him up because he knew that saying something stupid like "fate made me do it" wasn't an option for him. Fate was a mere enemy he tackled everyday.
Varsha stood right there, with her hands crossed watching him walk around searching for booze. She told herself that if she were sober, she'd tell him where the booze was, now she just wanted to see him struggle. Maybe she really did belong here.
A faint smile plastered on his face when he found a carton of untouched booze which was now his for the taking. He picked up a bottle, taking in the view of what he'd imagined heaven to be like.
Fate might just be a mere enemy to him but it wasn't cowardly. It will stand up, fight him each time. What he didn't know was that he was playing along his role each time he thought he was fighting it. Fate will always tell him that what is meant for him will come for him, be it karma or redemption. So as he watched the cheap liquor fall from his hand, he wanted to blame it on fate but did that mean that he lost the fight? He didn't know and somehow he didn't want to find out when his eyes fell on her.
