Remembering Sunday

He staggered through the crowded city streets with a half empty liquor bottle in his hand. Not knowing where he was going, not remembering where he came from. The past few days had been a blur. His blood too full of alcohol to differentiate between night and day. He stumbled and fell, knocking people over in the process but he didn't feel his knees hit the pavement. He hadn't felt anything since Sunday. He stood up and swayed violently brushing against the swarm of people around him, but he didn't see them. All he could see was empty darkness. The darkness that came with Sunday. He had spent most of the week in this numb state. Walking around the city, seeing only black, white and grey concrete.

He reached his apartment block with a now empty bottle. And as he clambered up the dirty concrete stairwell to the second floor he couldn't help but feel his head swimming with memories from Sunday. He leaned against his door as he slid his key into the hole and turned it the door flew open with his weight upon it and he fell in. He lay there on the dirty floor that was littered with empty beer cans and broken glass bottles. Under the layer of dust and grime that covered everything in his small apartment lay memories of Sunday. It had only two square shaped rooms and one bathroom. The room he was in at that moment was the living room and kitchen. Against one of the walls was an old tattered brown leather loveseat sofa with an old rectangular wooden crate at either side. One of them sat under the television remote. The other under a broken picture frame with a man and a woman smiling in it. The small black television sat opposite the sofa on a small wooden table that rose only inches from the ground. Behind the television there was a single small square window on the red brick wall that was not big enough to let him jump out of it but it did let in small rays of dusty white light that shone on all the dirty furniture and mess in the room. Past the sofa was the small kitchen which now only contained the bare minimums. And a lot of empty bottles lay lifeless on the filthy countertops.

After what seemed like a life time, Alex finally decided to get himself up but only so he could get another drink to numb the pain that was creeping back on him, the pain that came from Sunday. He collapsed onto the couch with a new bottle in his hand. The contents of this one were unknown to him as it was so dark in the apartment by now that he couldn't read the label. He sat alone in this darkness for hours, occasionally getting up to go relieve himself or to get another bottle. Even after two large bottles of gin and one bottle of vodka he couldn't fight off the memories of Sunday that were forcing their way back into his mind. He stood up abruptly causing himself to lose his sense of balance and falling back into the sofa again. He continued doing this until the one time when he remained standing and then made his way out into the stairwell, bottle in hand.

He began his ascent to the roof top, this took him considerably longer now than it did when he was sober. He burst through the door, the midnight rain clung to him instantly, the October night air refreshingly icy against his skin. When he reached their 'special spot' he downed the last of his drink, shoved his hand into the front pocket of his filthy jeans and pulled out a tattered folded up sheet of paper. He unfolded it carefully, the moon being the only thing illuminating the round letters on the sheet. It was a letter from her, the last letter he would ever get from her. He read it for the millionth time, with every word his eyes passed over his hand shook more violently and his eyes were glazed over well before he reached the end of it. It read simply:

"My Dearest Alex, 13 October 2015

I'm not coming back, forgive me, I couldn't stand to be near you and your dreams for a future for the both of us. I've done something so terrible, I'm terrified to speak. I won't be calling, but you'd expect that from me. I'm mixed up, I'll be blunt: you're driving me crazy. The rain is washing you out of my hair and out of my mind. I'm keeping an eye on the world, from so many thousands of feet off the ground, I'm over you now. I'm at home in the clouds, and towering over your head. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for this."

There was no apologetic sign off, there was no sign off period. His whole body was shaking now and that was when Alex had his sheer moment of madness. That was when he balled both his hands into fists, one of those fists still contained her letter. He took a step towards the edge of the roof top and looked down. It was a seven storey drop, long enough for him to remember everything he needed to, long enough for him to remember Sunday. He was standing on the ledge now. He leaned into the cold breeze, he let it sting his eyes and dry the tears that were falling from them. He leaned further and further into the breeze until finally the ground fell from under him and he was hurtling towards the ground. In his final moments all he thought about was their very first day together and how beautiful she was. It played like a movie in front of his eyes, he smiled at this.

They were sitting in a warm coffee shop in the heart of New York City facing each other and drinking coffee. The snow outside making this even more romantic. They had only just met a few minutes prior when Alex was a few cent short on paying for his coffee and she had offered to pay the difference. "What's your name oh kind stranger?" He asked the pretty red head with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips. He couldn't believe that someone so beautiful was even alive let alone there with him. The girl laughed at this. Her laugh was light, it filled her face and lit up her eyes as if they held a universe of stars within them. He could have looked at her for hours. She then answered, "My name is Sunday."