Post by Allen Daughtry on Aug 2, 2008 7:13:14 GMT 1
'Counting down the days... the hours... the minutes... the seconds...'
The silence of his vicinity fueled the cold emptiness that subtly gnawed at the young man's awareness of reality, its impure haze of cigarette smoke, dimmed yellow lights and charged neon beer signs dulling the senses of sight and smell, with the cackling and booming of his drinking neighbors hushing his ears to other thoughts than the subject at hand, and the alien fumes of hemp that ran down the boy's throat suppressing what little sensation he had left in his flesh. He felt nothing at all, merely oblivion... and what little was left of his mental capacities.
And so leaned Allen Daughtry, the weight of his body anchored to the edge of a greasy, polished bartable, both elbows pressed against the smooth wooden surface to give support to both Allen's hand-splayed chin and the tightly wrapped stick of marijuana tucked between the fingers of his right hand. For someone that had never inhaled illegal drugs before, the young man was holding his own integrity together well enough, but not for long, and when the long hand of the overseeing clock above his head struck midnight, he'd be adding more chaos to the mix.
'Ten seconds... seven... three...'
Daughtry's glazed cerulean eyes watched the smaller arm of the clock finally pass over the large print of 12 o' clock, and thanks to the darkened shades over his eyes, his shift to the bartender would have been unnoticed. It was a good thing, then, that his tapped the outer end of his right palm onto the bartable to get the attention of the bartender.
"Yo Smithy, I'm finally legal! Hit me with a shot of whiskey so I can celebrate!" Allen spoke out loud to the bartender, seemingly thinking he was whispering, but sounding far more off tempo than intended. His motor functions were slow and stationary, with much of his focus on trying his best to focus on something rather than his own figure.
The man behind the bar smirked a false grin of congratulations and grabbed a bottle of whiskey - Daughtry didn't know, nor care what brand it was - and poured a thin volume of amber heaven into a simple, stout glass. Lightly placing the drink in front of the boy, the older man took no heed in speaking with him, not interested in talking with someone clearly outside of their own cohesion.
As Daughtry gazed down at the glass in front of him, his lips widened to express an amused smile, and a muffled laugh spewed from him as his left hand left the weight of his chin to pick up the alcohol. Holding the whiskey to eye level, Allen careened the drink across his sight for a good minute with a sign of glee across his face, evidently amused at the event. It almost seemed like an achievement to him - perhaps it might have been for most, but Allen was not so simple.
Unless he was too high on drugs to realize where he was, anyway.
Without a moment's notice, Allen suddenly chugged the poison through his lips and down his throat, breathing in the warm scent and coughing. His green experience to alcohol left a few other men laughing at him, though he didn't even notice them.
"Well DAMN bar-TENder, that's some good shit! If only you had some chow I could munch on right now, goddamn..."
The boy placed the glass onto the bartable once more, practically dropping it. Folding his left arm across the surface so that he could lay down his head, though, the boy suddenly found a tinge of his emotions sinking with the beverage inside of him.
'Why am I even here... Christ, it's my first thing of whiskey in my life, and there's no one here with me...'
To the surrounding men, the boy would appear to fall asleep, but behind those opaque shades, the eyes of Allen Daughtry stared into nothing, as he reminded himself just why he had taken two terrible drugs in one night. It wasn't to experience them or enjoy himself; it was to drown his thoughts, his depression, just like any other man did.
Why he wanted to drown those thoughts, however, was known only to him for now.
The silence of his vicinity fueled the cold emptiness that subtly gnawed at the young man's awareness of reality, its impure haze of cigarette smoke, dimmed yellow lights and charged neon beer signs dulling the senses of sight and smell, with the cackling and booming of his drinking neighbors hushing his ears to other thoughts than the subject at hand, and the alien fumes of hemp that ran down the boy's throat suppressing what little sensation he had left in his flesh. He felt nothing at all, merely oblivion... and what little was left of his mental capacities.
And so leaned Allen Daughtry, the weight of his body anchored to the edge of a greasy, polished bartable, both elbows pressed against the smooth wooden surface to give support to both Allen's hand-splayed chin and the tightly wrapped stick of marijuana tucked between the fingers of his right hand. For someone that had never inhaled illegal drugs before, the young man was holding his own integrity together well enough, but not for long, and when the long hand of the overseeing clock above his head struck midnight, he'd be adding more chaos to the mix.
'Ten seconds... seven... three...'
Daughtry's glazed cerulean eyes watched the smaller arm of the clock finally pass over the large print of 12 o' clock, and thanks to the darkened shades over his eyes, his shift to the bartender would have been unnoticed. It was a good thing, then, that his tapped the outer end of his right palm onto the bartable to get the attention of the bartender.
"Yo Smithy, I'm finally legal! Hit me with a shot of whiskey so I can celebrate!" Allen spoke out loud to the bartender, seemingly thinking he was whispering, but sounding far more off tempo than intended. His motor functions were slow and stationary, with much of his focus on trying his best to focus on something rather than his own figure.
The man behind the bar smirked a false grin of congratulations and grabbed a bottle of whiskey - Daughtry didn't know, nor care what brand it was - and poured a thin volume of amber heaven into a simple, stout glass. Lightly placing the drink in front of the boy, the older man took no heed in speaking with him, not interested in talking with someone clearly outside of their own cohesion.
As Daughtry gazed down at the glass in front of him, his lips widened to express an amused smile, and a muffled laugh spewed from him as his left hand left the weight of his chin to pick up the alcohol. Holding the whiskey to eye level, Allen careened the drink across his sight for a good minute with a sign of glee across his face, evidently amused at the event. It almost seemed like an achievement to him - perhaps it might have been for most, but Allen was not so simple.
Unless he was too high on drugs to realize where he was, anyway.
Without a moment's notice, Allen suddenly chugged the poison through his lips and down his throat, breathing in the warm scent and coughing. His green experience to alcohol left a few other men laughing at him, though he didn't even notice them.
"Well DAMN bar-TENder, that's some good shit! If only you had some chow I could munch on right now, goddamn..."
The boy placed the glass onto the bartable once more, practically dropping it. Folding his left arm across the surface so that he could lay down his head, though, the boy suddenly found a tinge of his emotions sinking with the beverage inside of him.
'Why am I even here... Christ, it's my first thing of whiskey in my life, and there's no one here with me...'
To the surrounding men, the boy would appear to fall asleep, but behind those opaque shades, the eyes of Allen Daughtry stared into nothing, as he reminded himself just why he had taken two terrible drugs in one night. It wasn't to experience them or enjoy himself; it was to drown his thoughts, his depression, just like any other man did.
Why he wanted to drown those thoughts, however, was known only to him for now.
