^This is how you pick really
imaginative titles. Well, I had this knocking about in my documents (with this very title, heh), so here it is, completely unpolished and unfinished
Mr_BFA's comment about alcoholic Revan inspired it, so there we go ;o Thanks dude! (Posted to CEC since I technically missed the deadline for Javyar's
The man sitting alone at a table in the corner was hunched over his drink. He only moved to refill it and lift the glass to his lips, often draining it in a single shot. There just only one bottle on the table (rapidly emptying), but he was on his third or fourth by now. He wasn’t very sure. Being able to hold his drink was a damned curse, as far as he was concerned. It just meant that he had to fork out much more to reach the black sleep of the inebriated.
A woman slid into the seat opposite his, and he had to wait for a moment before his eyes focused. Not a threat. Even if she was, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Her perfume assaulted tender parts of his skull as he squinted at her. She was quite young and not unattractive by any means, as far as he could tell past the juma goggles. The most astonishing thing about her was her garish green eye shadow. His eyes automatically darted down and he changed his mind. The amount of bosom exposed was impressive, as was the fact that they seemed in mortal danger of breaking free of their fetters.
“You sure can hold your drink, handsome.”
He grunted noncommittally.
“You look like you need some company.” A foot began stroking the inside of his leg, and he pulled away.
“Are you sure?” she purred. Or tried. She was almost as drunk as he was, but she moved with amazing speed, or perhaps it was just him needing half a minute to string together a coherent sentence. Whatever it was, she seemed to teleport into his lap, and he stood up, dumping her unceremoniously on the ground.
She started cursing then, “Schutta! You ain’t the only one th’ needs to forget! Damn you! You can’t give a crap about anyone but yourself! All men are the same! I know it!” She was hysterical by now, her shrill voice drawing disinterested glances from the other patrons—anyone who was still here at this time wasn’t really bothered about anyone else’s woes.
He scooped up a bottle of liquor and flipped a credit chip at the bartender, walking out without looking back. Twisting the cap off roughly, he took a swig from the bottle, liquor burning as it went down. It was getting hard to tell one cantina from another, or even one liquor from another.
It was funny how he didn’t care for whatever the woman had lost, and how no one cared for what he had lost. The sun keeps rising, the moons wax and wane. The stars keep burning, and the galaxy drifts apart slowly until the end, when every thing would become one again, and there wouldn’t be love or loss or liquor.
What is one man’s loss?
Indeed, what was it? He thought numbly. He was responsible for so much, and he had lost one person…
Was his love greater than anyone else’s?
I went to war for her…to protect her…
She would have been sloshed before they even got through the first bottle.
He didn’t want to remember.
Was it really better to kill himself slowly like this? It would take him longer than usual, and there would be years more of nights like this, wandering through misty streets with only the bottle for company, fleeing specters of the past. Running beyond the grasp of happy memories. And never, never letting Mnemosyne’s darker children even brush a cold finger along his temple, imparting knowledge he didn’t want, of cleverly baited traps and political manipulation, of strategy and sacrifice-
…of her laughing
…of her weeping
He hurled the bottle at the ground, hard enough to shatter it.