Colder

A lot

Phillipan woke up in a cold sweat. It had been the worst one yet. He'd been having these nightmares for the last, what, 18 months? More? Like shit he knew. He was in a plane, everyone was their, Frost, Semore, Elsa and himself. The thing is, he was in the back row, and they were in the front row. The 3 of them were constantly looking forwards, and Phillipan only ever got a glimpse of them if he leaned into the ile. If he stood up, or got out of his seat, the plane would brake in half, and Phillipan would hurtle to the earth, alone. But dreams don't mean anything. Anything. Phillipan walked into the kitchen, seeing a note on the kitchen table.

"Went to get something to eat. Be back by 11."

"Well fuck." Phillipan looked at clock. It was 7:30. 3 and a half hours until he could start work. He walked outside. Looked at the people. He was tired of this. Waiting. Waiting for life to come to him, when it wasn't coming. Maybe his dreams had something to do with it. He wished it was coming, hoping it was lost or couldn't find it's way to him, but fate knows exactly where he was. Phillipan had to get off his ass and go meet it half way. So far for the past couple months he'd been drinking as heavier than ever. Ever night bottle of vodka to put him to sleep and ever morning shots of whiskey to wake him up. Phillipan stood up. He was done. He had to tell Semore what he'd been thinking for weeks now. But how would he tell him? Semore was a bum without the agency. But that was his problem, Phillipans happiness came before anybody else, but could he live with what he was going to do? As the thoughts rushed into his mind, Semore came walking up the driveway. He tossed Phillipan some Dunkin Donuts.

"Morning." Semore said quietly sitting down next to him.

"Lis-listen Semore, I, I've got. I-um- what was I going to say?"

"Christ Phillipan, it's 10:30! Your wasted. I thought you were done with this!"

"I'll talk to-to you later, it's, super, important."

"We'll talk when your not drunk." Semore spat into his face.

Jesus Semore was butthurt this morning. What was his deal anyway? He needs to have a dink is what he needs. Ya. He'd wait until Semore could handle it.

5 hours later.

"Semore! We need to talk!" Phillipan shouted from the kitchen.

Semore walked a few moments later. Phillipan looked terrible. He had a fucking 12 o'clock shadow for Christ sakes. He was dressed but... There was something off about everything on him. Slobbish. Thick bags under his eyes.

"I. I'm done. I'm done Semore."

"What do mean?"

"I mean, It's not fun anymore. I had a dream and, It, died." Phillipan said.

Semore stared right into his face. He wasn't drunk. He seemed sincere enough.

"Ok. I'll see you later. Also, fuck you." Semore said quietly.

He walked into his room, picking up a hunting knife, change of underwear, and 1500$ rolled up under his bed.

"Bye, Phillipan." Semore yelled as he stomped out the door.

Just like that. He was gone. Finally, Phillipan could have some time to think, like he wanted.

"(Sigh)" Phillipan huffed, taking a swig out of the bottle of Jack Daniels.

Wait, when did he pick up this bottle. He swore... Of well..... Phillipan had started knocking more and more back. Life was... For, um. He forgot. He forgot a lot of things he drank. A lot.