Scarleton Series I : Before the Cult Read Online Free Page B

you
wonder how it will be if you cut it? Extended its parameter?”
    I laughed.
“Sounds like a brilliant idea.”
     
6
    It’s not
happiness in a bottle but an illusion of one. That is what alcohol
is. Happiness is a state of being I have never been close to or
know the taste of. The thing about alcohol is that it detaches you
from your problems, it does not sever you from them, it just
distances you enough to be desensitized to the degree your
predicament actually affects you. It offers a false sense of hope
for the first few drinks, then as I continue drinking my outlook
becomes even more dreary. Then dread draws closer to your face
until it all becomes fuzzy and muddled as this world with its
unfathomable norms. The grief for what I never knew, for where I
should be and for how things are supposed to be disperses for a
moment and later it returns denser. Then the coagulated sadness
strains the body and the soul of its energy and will. Each
subsequent slumber grows longer and from each I wake even more
tired and dazed than before. Faced with my forlorn hopeless state I
dwell in my crying fits, quivering to the floor and helping myself
to a slit or two. As the self-harm loses its ability to feed the
craving a bottle of alcohol works as a mediator. Somehow it kept me
alive…not that being alive is what I want. I think drugs, any kind,
were there not to soothe the pain or provide relief but to help us
endure a bit more, they are the equivalent of the last dive you
make at the end of a race – their usefulness is conditional.
Creatures with our kind of consciousness are given the ability to
escape our current reality and drugs manipulate this ability,
stretching it to its bounds. The 750ml Black Label beer bottle
looked cold. It was tantalizing and I was eager to manipulate my
consciousness to ward off the calling’s weight.
    “Do you have
classes this afternoon?” asked Macxermillio.
    “No I don’t.
I’m done for today,” I said, staring at the red and black label on
the bottle of beer on the desk next to my laptop. I read what’s on
it , “ Champion beer for champion men.”
    Macfearson
laughed. “Beautiful isn’t it?”
    “I fuckin’ love
beer.”
    I knew after
drinking I would lie down. I looked forward to it because it would
be dreamless. It would be a break from the nightmares that haunt
and tire my soul. I would wake up unable to remember what they are
about, left with the terror and the sheets dampened by sweat.
Napping that afternoon would be different. I was going to wake up
with a headache and a confused mind but that was better.
    Macxermillio
picked up a greasy glass on top of the table. Rinsed it at the
basin and placed it on the desk. He gestured for Macfearson to open
the bottle.
    Macfearson
sighed, grabbed the bottle and opened it with his mouth. “ You guys
should really learn how to do this.” He gave it to
Macxermillio.
    “No thanks,”
replied Macxermillio as he poured the beer into the glass. He slid
it to me. “There you go, Sandz.”
    I stared at it,
suddenly overwhelmed. “I can’t go to supper guys.” Tears began
blurring my view. “Eating is work. I can’t keep doing it anymore.
Feels like I’m forcing food down my throat and chokin’ myself. I
don’t have the energy to keep going there or being out there. I am
tired guys. I just wanna be alone and stay alone. I don’t wanna see
anyone or talk to anyone. I can’t go to supper. I just wanna sleep
now and…maybe never wake up.”
    Macxermillio
nodded. “Okay.”
    “I’m sorry
guys.”
    “Are you gonna
do that after your drink?” Macfearson asked.
    I stared at the
gold beer, bubbles racing to the top. “I don’t feel like drinking
anymore.”
    I turned to my
bed measuring the energy and the will it would take to be in it
including all the associated activities like taking my shoes and
clothes off. The calculations’ results were daunting.
    “Macx?”
    “Huh?”
    “Can you put me
to bed please?” I wept.
    He