Life on Mars (Slow Updates)

4

Finally got my life together, so longer chapters.

... I did not get my life together.

Anya chugged another bottle of vodka. Broken shards of glass littered the area around her, the stench of alcohol hanging in the air. Small droplets of clear liquid slowly dripped from their containers, but Anya couldn't care less. She felt warm and cozy all over, clueless and care-free of the horrors outside.

The world swam around her, a meaningless blur of colors and shapes. She felt sick, like she was going to vomit. Anya took another swig of vodka, so drunk she could barely aim properly. It felt nice to just relax and ignore everything else. Just her and vodka. Nothing more, nothing less.

The revolver she was playing Russian Roulette with lay forgotten at her feet, tossed away for alcohol. It was useless, anyway. She even put in an extra four bullets, but she somehow kept getting the empty slot.

It was annoying. The memory of why she couldn't die was right there. Just out of her mind's reach. Not like any of it mattered in the end. They were all going to die, one way or another.

Anya smashed the bottle on the floor next to her, stray pieces of glass sparkling as the soared through the air, shimmering like glitter once they hit the ground. Shit's hit the fan, can you really blame her? It's Alfred's fault, not hers.

A soft pang of sympathy gnawed at her heart, but after a few more chugs it was gone, leaving a swirling, hazy world full of nothing and everything. A shovel clattered down from its place, covered in... something Anya couldn't care less about at the moment. If she can't identify it, it's probably not that important, right?

Who even gives a shit anymore? She's not supposed to exist, they're not supposed to exist, the actual countries themselves are not supposed to exist, so what's the point of it all, exactly, if none of it was supposed to be there in the first place?

Something nagged at the corners of her mind, trying to form a coherent thought without much luck. Something is off, seriously off. It's just that... Any doesn't know what is wrong. She scowled, trying to hard to pin-point something--anything.

Anya drew a blank. Nothing. Nothing at all. She grew irritated, not finding the patience to wait till she's sober. Anya let out a long, annoyed sigh as she swung a freshly opened bottle to her lips.

At least she can drink her feelings away.