Ronigan fell off his bar stool at ‘Cooters Pub’ and hit the cement floor fast and hard. The room erupted in laughter over his now sprawled out limp body, neglecting the remote possibility that he might actually be hurt. He felt something trickle down unto his lips as the spicy taste of his own blood flowed from one nostril. The floor smelled of old beer and the steps of lost souls before him. How many had he drunk tonight? Five shots or was it eight? It didn’t really matter anymore, he just knew he was done with tonight’s festivities. A booming voice yelled down at him to “Get the FUCK up!” It was Mickey the bartender yelling over the bar. This actually was Ronigan’s sole intent at the moment, to just simply get up. He struggled to his feet as the room began to swirl around him in dizzying colors. A patron sitting at the bar felt Ronigan’s arm on his shoulder as he leaned in for support. The man angrily pushed it off, muttered some expletives and went back to finishing his beer. The rest of the crowd surrounding the bar continued to drink, completely ignoring Ronigan’s barely standing presence. It was just another typical busy Friday night here at Cooter’s. People came here to enter into a state of complete oblivion over whatever shit their life was at the moment. No one there really cared about whether you were too drunk to drive or even just dead on the floor. Ronigan took a step towards the big oak door entranceway which led to the outside. Blurred faces around him appeared cartoonish in their appearance as he tried to stay focused on just getting the Hell home.
“If I can just get home..to bed. I’ll be alright. I need to get through that door”.
Ronigan’s thoughts were muddled by the intensity of the booze, as if they were covered in a dirty gauze. He was suffering by himself right in the middle of a whiskey induced storm and he needed to get out. A few more steps closer and he would at least be outside away from all of this chaos.
“This IS IT. Never again, after tonight”
Another chaotic thought instinctively sprung up in Ronigan’s crowded head. This idea was familiar territory to him. It was the false bravado of someone who hadn’t realized yet that his words needed action. This was actually the third time this week that he had gotten to this point of inebriation. At the end of each session of just mindless consuming, he would vow that this was the last time. Then the next day, that overpowering allure of only to find that deepening, unrelenting urge to drown himself once again. He reached out to door’s handle with a slight sigh of relief. Suddenly, the door began to melt away against the brass frame. The walls started to ooze down into a blurry pile of colors. The last thought Ronigan had before blacking out was a small prayer to God to please help him. This would be the thought that later after he woke up, would finally push him to give the destiny of his life into the hands of a higher power.
December Writing Prompt – And suddenly the door began to melt against the brass frame – Day 16/31