The Drunken Storytellings of a Madman.

Part 6

While I was wallowing in my disgusting self-pity, a knock echoed throughout the house, apparently someone required my attention. Huh... that's a first. Walking over to the door, I snatched up a bottle of rum and took swig, quenching my insufferable daze of self-loathing briefly.

Throwing open the door, my eyes would meet with the appearance of a small woman, clad in an equally sized tiny grey hoodie, those same symbols engraved onto it. Her eyes were hidden under her long, brown hair, and the rest of her face was indistinguible, as the hood covered most of it. If it were not for the jumper, I would not have been able to identify her as that same girl; the one sitting alone in the bar, she had perked my interest immediately, and now she was at my door.
It must be Christmas.

"Is this the drunkard at the bar yesterday?" She muttered, hiding a small grin. Her voice was soft, sweet and quiet, as if used to hide any sort of malice under her tone. The perfect poison covered in an icing so sweet, it could kill.

"It depends on who's asking," I smirked, "There are dozens of drunks in this town , be more specific," My tone changed into one that was sweet and playful, as if trying to overpower hers, and reveal whatever hidden intent she had.

The girl paused briefly, as if contemplating whether I was really worth the time and effort. She sighed and leaned forward, "Listen, that child from yesterday, you know the one..." The icing had finally melted, revealing the darker tone that had been tucked away, her voice was cold, her stare an icy sensation that saw through any trickery. "Let me put this blatantly. If you want to live, come with me,"

I stared at her for a good few seconds, "You're shitting me, right? You don't just knock on my door, and say 'if you want to live, come with me'. Do you have the slightest idea how cliche that is?"

The girl didn't seem to take my words very well, because as soon as they left my mouth, she had stormed off.