Saving Grace

July 27, 2009

“Another shot,” I say, slapping another large bill on the counter, “and keep them coming.”

The barkeep frowns at the money, but I catch his eyes and stare him down until he poors me another whiskey. I wouldn’t recommend most people try something like that. The barkeep is always right. I just don’t give a damn anymore. Which he can see in my eyes. I lost the one thing that mattered to the fire. My one saving grace turned to ash.

One swallow and I was ready for another shot. I wouldn’t have bothered comming out in public for drinks, but I already drank what I had in the office. I kept waiting to get enough in me to dull the pain or to poison myself into oblivion. I wasn’t really picky with which.

The night wore on, my money ran out and I was relieved of my keys before being pointed toward a taxi. I didn’t bother with it. I didn’t really have anywhere left to go at this point. Instead I tucked my hat down more firmly and stumbled into the night.

I certainly hadn’t planned to go back to the scene. There wasn’tn anything to see after all. Nothing but ash.

I find myself on the ground suddenly, staring up at the dark sky. Everything turns sort of fuzzy and wrong, bleeding into sparks of white and black. I see a wing and a hand set against the sparks and finally feel that release.

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