Given Up

A Man

A man drunkenly tottered out of the bar, way too drunk to walk properly. Even a blind man could see he was completely wasted. He had a bottle in his hand and a tear soaked giggle on his lips. He stumbled around the quiet street, occasionally taking big swigs from his bottle of liquor. The man staggered around aimlessly, no real place to return to, no real place to call home. The man brought the bottle to his lips in attempt to drain the last few droplets of bliss. When the last dewdrop of hard liquor fell from the mouth of the bottle; to his tongue, he threw the bottle to the ground. Letting the sound of the bottle shattering, to shatter his damn. It started with one drop, one drop fell from his eye and to the ground. It splashed on the cement below him and encouraged more to do the same. Soon the man dropped to his knees in anguish and started bawling. He brought his hands to his face as if to stop the tears from falling, but it did nothing. The man sucked in breath after breath, his body shuddering with every frail breath. He was so weak. Three days of hitting bar after bar wasn't helping. His emotions flowed like his tears; falling hard and fast. He often contemplated death, and right now, on the cement sidewalk in a shady part of town, seemed like the perfect time. He shakily stood up, he put his hand on his knee to brace himself. He felt the ripped jean fabric of his pants through his fingerless gloves, he felt the skin underneath; warm, not for long. The man looked forwards and saw the remnants of his smashed bottle, the sharp glass scattered across the sidewalk. Some of it even slid over to touch the wall of the nearest shop; a clothing store. The man trudged over to the still bright window; he could see himself; or at least what was left of it. His hair was tussled, not the hot kind, no. This kind was the kind you could only get when you've given up on yourself. It's from not caring enough, or not having the means to shower. It hasn't been brushed since she left. She would always hassle him about keeping his hair clean, so that's why it was the first to go to hell. His shirt had so many stains you could put it in a museum, or a gameshow; On this week's episode of; What stain is it? Barbecue? Or Ketchup? It is--was; a nice, plain grey t-shirt that she got for him for their birthday. She always knew what he wanted. She was the best twin sister he could ever ask for. So why would she do it?! The man propelled his hand through the window. He shuddered from the exertion, he hadn't used that much energy since he had to run away from the last bartender who threw him out of the last bar for staying too late after closing. He looked at his fist; it was bleeding at the knuckles. He looked at the window, he could still see his tear stained face through the shattered glass, shattered like his heart. There was distant yelling coming from inside the building, his drunken mind caught on quick and he sprinted as far and fast away as he could.

Breathing slowly and heavily, the man slowed to a stop. He bent over and gripped his knees tightly to brace himself. You could say he used to be an active man, he was a fire fighter. He had to be fit. But now he was completely out of breath. After she... left. He gave up. He stopped going to work. He stayed at home and never left the couch. He fell apart. He drank all the time, and the only time he left his pig-sty of a house was to go to a bar. The man heaved up everything he had consumed that day onto the ground below him. It was only alcohol: Two bars worth of it. He heaved until there was practically nothing left, he wiped his chin with the sleeve of his tattered leather jacket. He stood up properly and looked around; The main road was to his right, and to his left were rolling grass hills. There weren't very many cars driving down the road, but there were just enough. The man took a deep breath, and started walking. His slow, agonizing steps echoed through his head. Each step was a second; Tic, Toc. Tic, Toc. Tic-     

HONK!

A shrilling noise jostled through his head like incessant drilling. It rattled through his brain like the knick-knacks on the dashboard of a big truck. It was a loud ringing. Like your ears ringing, but turned to maximum on a very expensive amplifier. The man opened his heavy eyelids but shut them immediately when heaven's light shone upon them, he brought his hands to cover them as he tried again; A bright, white light, on a ceiling. He closed his eyes and focused on his hearing; slowly, sound was returning to his ears; muffled talking: "-know, I know! But I couldn't just leave him there! .... Yeah, I will, I know...okay!... Yeah, I'll call you back, ...yeah, love you too mom... K bye."

There was a faint beeping noise, then shuffling. There was added pressure next to him on whatever the man seemed to be laying on; a bed maybe? A small, soft hand pushed his chin-length, slightly curly, brown hair out of his face. The man's face contorted in pain when he tried to open his eyes again and noticed the light was a little dimmer then before, this time there was a face blocking some of the light; he couldn't make out all the details, he only saw shoulder length, blonde hair. "Shh, Shh," A calm voice soothed, petting his hair comfortingly; "Don't worry about getting up, just relax. You've been through a lot haven't you?" The voice soothed as the hand smoothed his hair out. The man grunted in acknowledgment because he was so tired, too tired to speak. "I'll make you some coffee, just get some sleep" The voice spoke, and sleep he did. He was out like a light.

He later woke up the smell of coffee. The man cautiously opened his eyes and sat up gently, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs and subconsciously brought a hand to it as he grunted in pain. He then moved hand to his head in efforts to stop an oncoming headache, to no avail. The headache hit him in full force and he groaned; he scrunched his eyelid close as if it would help. There was shuffling coming from another room, and the smell of coffee became stronger. "Oh, you're awake" The same soothing voice drifted into the room and the man looked up and peaked one eye open and saw her; She was standing in the doorframe of the cream coloured room, she was wearing a thin white woven cardigan and blue jeans that were ripped at the knees. Her shoulder length blonde hair flowed down with slight, jagged, curling iron curls, trying to reach her shoulders but never quite making it. She had a white mug in her pale, dainty hands as she walked towards him and handed it to him. She smiled slightly and sat down next to him. He took it and nodded thankfully and took a gulp. He looked back up at her and her emerald green eyes shone right through him. The man and his twin sister had piercing sky blue eyes, and he never really thought about how any other colour but blue could be so bright, but here she was, proving everything he ever knew wrong. Like how angels didn't exist.

"What were you doing in the middle of the road like that? You could have gotten hurt," The angel spoke, and her voice was like silk; smooth, and calm. The man was at a loss for words as he swallowed the coffee, more questions rose in his mind; "Where am I?" he asked, gripping the cup tightly trying to suck the heat from the plain, white mug. "Oh, right." The woman replied, playing the the nape of her neck nervously: "You're in my house, in my spare bedroom. I found you laying on the side of the road. You were beaten and battered up. It almost look like you were hit my a truck or something." The angel explained. The man thought about that a bit, then the memories flooded back. "I think I was." The man said sadly as he looked down at the coffee leaving ripples on the surface with every movement he made. The woman looked at him shocked; "Why? did you not check both ways before crossing the road?" She tried to joke, but it didn't come out the way she wanted.