So I was going. Didn't know how the hell I was supposed to pull this one through, but I was determined to make it happen. I went to hell and back again; I wasn't afraid anymore.
-Yo.
-Hey buddy. Name yer poison.
-White Russian.
-Ah, nice one. Coming up.
As the bartender pour, I looked around. No sign, no evidence. Nothing. A lot of people, but I just felt like I was there all by myself. "Sucks to live this way," one of my so-called friends told me. "You're not helping. Get the fuck away," I told it.
-Slow night?
-Not really. Last night was the night of the dead. Tonight's much better.
-I see.
-Here's you drink, pal.
-Thanks.
I took a sip of the beverage, sneering a bit. A little bit stronger than I would make, but not that much of a problem. There were bigger ones dancing around me. "What a dump," another one said out loud. "I know." I just nodded.
Hours went by slowly, and people came and went, a lot of people. As the night grew older, the amount of smiles, clinking glasses and sideways looks increased accordingly.
But no sign of something or someone worthy.
I ordered two more Russians, and was already quite tipsy at this moment. The bartender wasn't very talkative, or at least he wasn't the type that would start conversations, so I basically kept to myself. I smoked three cigs at the outside lounge, and kept on looking. Kept staring at the ground.
What the hell was I doing there?
You're searching.
For what?
You're trying.
To do what?
I'm not at home, I'm not alone. I'm not spending the night wasting my time in front of a computer. I'm not laughing at useless nonsense off forums or playing a role in a fictional universe.
And to what avail? What good could I get from standing here, drinking my ass off, being with all these people, all these nameless faces, these bland smiles, all that nonsense?
Try to fit in. Be yourself. Talk.
I got nowhere to fit in. No myself to be proud of. No interesting things to talk about, except internet fucking memes or some similar bullshit - topics of no relevance whatsoever to everyday people, normal people, so to speak.
Another Russian. Another cigarette. Repeat.
After a while, I found myself staring at the counter, counting scratches on the beaten wood finish, or just playing with the ice on my empty glass. All my 'friends' were talking to me simultaneously, and it was driving me crazy. I looked up, only to find the barman's face staring at me with a funny look.
-Had enough?
-I think so. Here it is, keep the change.
-D'you need a cab?
-Nah, I can manage it. it's not that far, I'll just walk it off. Thanks anyway.
-Right. See ya.
I walked off the bar, leaving all those empty shells, those nameless, anonymous people behind me. The street was desert, the wind was howling and cold.
"Why dind't you--"
Shut up.
"You could have gone and talked to--"
Shut up.
"You should have--"
Shut up.
"It's all your fault, you know."
I know. Shut up.
"Go home, go back to the prison you created."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Just shut up. Leave me alone.
"You are alone."
The streets seemed to be screaming at me, the lamp posts dancing, the ground shuffling. And my head wouldn't just shut the fuck up. Never before that walk felt so endless. A few blocks seemed to have transformed into a long, slow, endless desert.
But I got home.
I went upstairs.
I locked the door behind me. Lit a cigarette, fell on the couch, stared at the ceiling.
Everywhere was nowhere. Everywhere felt like nowhere.
Nowhere.
-Yo.
-Hey buddy. Name yer poison.
-White Russian.
-Ah, nice one. Coming up.
As the bartender pour, I looked around. No sign, no evidence. Nothing. A lot of people, but I just felt like I was there all by myself. "Sucks to live this way," one of my so-called friends told me. "You're not helping. Get the fuck away," I told it.
-Slow night?
-Not really. Last night was the night of the dead. Tonight's much better.
-I see.
-Here's you drink, pal.
-Thanks.
I took a sip of the beverage, sneering a bit. A little bit stronger than I would make, but not that much of a problem. There were bigger ones dancing around me. "What a dump," another one said out loud. "I know." I just nodded.
Hours went by slowly, and people came and went, a lot of people. As the night grew older, the amount of smiles, clinking glasses and sideways looks increased accordingly.
But no sign of something or someone worthy.
I ordered two more Russians, and was already quite tipsy at this moment. The bartender wasn't very talkative, or at least he wasn't the type that would start conversations, so I basically kept to myself. I smoked three cigs at the outside lounge, and kept on looking. Kept staring at the ground.
What the hell was I doing there?
You're searching.
For what?
You're trying.
To do what?
I'm not at home, I'm not alone. I'm not spending the night wasting my time in front of a computer. I'm not laughing at useless nonsense off forums or playing a role in a fictional universe.
And to what avail? What good could I get from standing here, drinking my ass off, being with all these people, all these nameless faces, these bland smiles, all that nonsense?
Try to fit in. Be yourself. Talk.
I got nowhere to fit in. No myself to be proud of. No interesting things to talk about, except internet fucking memes or some similar bullshit - topics of no relevance whatsoever to everyday people, normal people, so to speak.
Another Russian. Another cigarette. Repeat.
After a while, I found myself staring at the counter, counting scratches on the beaten wood finish, or just playing with the ice on my empty glass. All my 'friends' were talking to me simultaneously, and it was driving me crazy. I looked up, only to find the barman's face staring at me with a funny look.
-Had enough?
-I think so. Here it is, keep the change.
-D'you need a cab?
-Nah, I can manage it. it's not that far, I'll just walk it off. Thanks anyway.
-Right. See ya.
I walked off the bar, leaving all those empty shells, those nameless, anonymous people behind me. The street was desert, the wind was howling and cold.
"Why dind't you--"
Shut up.
"You could have gone and talked to--"
Shut up.
"You should have--"
Shut up.
"It's all your fault, you know."
I know. Shut up.
"Go home, go back to the prison you created."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Just shut up. Leave me alone.
"You are alone."
The streets seemed to be screaming at me, the lamp posts dancing, the ground shuffling. And my head wouldn't just shut the fuck up. Never before that walk felt so endless. A few blocks seemed to have transformed into a long, slow, endless desert.
But I got home.
I went upstairs.
I locked the door behind me. Lit a cigarette, fell on the couch, stared at the ceiling.
Everywhere was nowhere. Everywhere felt like nowhere.
Nowhere.
