BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE

I thought I read my journal, but this whole time, they were that friend in my head. Time had passed while I was in the chair. Music from the radio still played, as the engine rumbled for a bit, after I'd parked in my residence. 

Another day, I thank the heavens, I made it through the roads. The evening was slowly approaching and whistling of wind breeze, flung open the half closed curtain at the window I forgot to close in the morning and the darkness encroached, dimming the glisten of the shot glass, in my hand, when I heard the words again "...What do you think you are doing? Who do you think you are? This world doesn't need you. You think everyone really respects you? Think again. You should scrape yourself from this existence. Look at how pathetic and useless you are to people. Find a pit of mud and lay in it...". My fist clenched, the shot glass, and my head weighed tons in a frozen position. 

A million thoughts congested any space available to react to my stasis. Ideas probed again like henchmen sent to finish an enemy, I could break the glass, press the accelerator, and try survive the road again, or maybe I could attempt to be the champion of the bar today. My liver would definitely pump it's chest today.

My weight could only throw itself, on the steering wheel like a bag of cement in a store. "HEEEEEYYY!" A neighbour shouted from their window, as I lay on the horn and was completely distracted from the noise pollution it had been causing for 15 good minutes. Slumber and confusion collided at once, and once again, my therapists words were the only thing flying out of the enclosed car, when I reached out for the bag of bottles that had drained my hard earned money for the fifth time this week. A big sigh, birthed itself, as I fidgeted with the bottle top. 

The picture of my daughter and her mother, appeared, in my head, when I looked forward to the horizon and tried to give more control and strength to the attempts of opening the bottle. "Will this be the last time? Will I ever see them again? Will they come looking for me?" I asked myself. I flung open the bottle and took the first sip. The warm and stingy sensation of high alcoholic percentage beverages passed down my throat calming me for brief moment as it burned the tears that dropped and the others that swelled on the brim of my eyelids. 

I start my car and reverse out of my parking. "Sir, where to?" The guard asked. " Haha have you laughed until you can't no more! A day with the boys, a bit! Give this letter to my wife when she arrives". I said.

A Hollywood and Oscar award deserving performance, for the explanation to the guard, after which I drove while opening the bottle to take another sip. My conscious still allowed me to make the calculations to be safe until the main road, but, I needed more in the system. 

The loosening of my tension was finally beginning to kick in. 90kph is what read on the speedometer. I gulped the bottle, down to almost a quarter of 750 ml left. 110kph, is what I improved to. "Finally this is what you deserve, pathetic fool, no one will still care" the words in my head called out. My foot pressed further on the accelerator, another gulp of the bottle and a glance at the next bottle near my family picture. As I enjoyed the thrill, I pressed completely on the accelerator. 140kph. 

Gulping down the bottle and trying to fight the memories and good times my family has had, the agony of others might feel, and increasingly feeling the freedom I may feel. Will this be the last time? Will I ever see them again? Will they come looking for me? I asked myself one more time, as a truck looks to join the road.