The Drunken Storytellings of a Madman.

Part 1 - Chapter 1 - The Drunk Man

I was stood outside the bar, phone in hand, pressed up against my left ear. A bored, irritated, expression spread across my face as I dialed the number yet another time. "Why the hell isn't he picking up?" A growl managed to escaped from my mouth and waver into the air. If it wasn't obvious enough as it was, I wasn't in the best mood at that moment.

A heavy groan erupted from my mouth as an endless flood of rain began to form at my feet, the rain then decided to put its effort into waging war on my suit, uselessly attempting to assault the fabric, and, in doing so, fall to the floor in defeat.

"No use ruining this suit over his absence." I murmured to myself. Sauntering into the bar, I meandered to a seat and sighed as the most scantily-clad barmaid imaginable strutted over and asked "Would ya' like a drink, hon?" She spoke in a thick australian accent. Looking back, there was something about her voice that bothered me, it seemed to quiver, as if filled with repent. Then again, if any human being was in her situation, it wouldn't surprise me. I tried to ignore it briefly as I nodded and replied, "A whiskey, if you may."

She'd turn on her feet and wander off to the bartender to fill out my request. I began to ponder the decisions and choices that woman must have faced to get herself into this terrible situation, my immediate assumption was that she spent a few hours with each member of staff doing something... Vulgar. At the time, I felt genuine pity for her: desperately attempting to flirt with each sleazy male in the area in an effort to increase the forever decreasing sales of the bar.

Pulling out my necronomicon, in which all my magical abilities centred from. I gave a pathetic attempt to keep myself amused, but, despite my efforts, it's hard to get stimulus out of a book with three pages that you've read over a dozen times. So instead, I pondered on what else I could do to keep myself entertained.

I decided to use those meaningless few moments in the bar to inspect the people positioned around me, otherwise the perpetual boredness locked deep within my mind would break out and take form, and I'd then have no other choice but to amuse myself in any means possible.

There were three people strewn across the bar, two male and the other female. The two men were mind-numbingly monotonous, nothing intriguing about them in the slightest. If I were to have made a deduction at the time. I'd probably have made the assumption that they were likely upset after being cast away by their loved ones. That's normally the main reason why people drink here in this bar, either that or it's their last night before they end their miserable existence. I've seen the likes many, many times, and frankly, I'd become immune to it.

The girl, on the other hand, was nothing of the sort. She kept to herself, just reading some dull book that had resided in the alcoves of the local library, that within itself was bizarre: the library had burnt down many years ago, along with any books inside it. This was due to the brief period of time where bandits and rebels plundered the town.

This would have just been a peculiarity if it weren't for her clothing choice, she was dressed in a small, grey hoodie, jeans and trainers. There was nothing too interesting about her jeans or trainers. What really grabbed my interest was her hoodie, it seemed normal until you noticed the brand. The name was embroidered onto the shirt, but the letters that were sewn on were indescribable, almost like an entirely different language. But not one humane, in the many long and boring years I lived, never before had I seen such a strange inscription.

Before I had anymore time to ponder on the strange signs, the barmaid returned to my table, and with a fake expression of seductiveness and playful allure, handed my drink to me. I did my best to take little to no note of her attempt to swindle me out of my money, and paid the appropriate amount.

This would be the first drink of the many, many more that came to follow. I drank and drank until I was blissfully ignorant of my constant foreboding sense of loneliness and isolation.