The Lightning Strikes

They say your mind snaps awake right before the lightning strikes. As Henry’s eyes opened, sweat patterned his forehead. He sat up just in time to see the flash outside his window. Rain pelleted at the glass. It seemed like it had been raining for the past few weeks. Henry couldn't remember a night where he didn't wake up from a bright flash outside his bedroom window.

As his feet swung over the bed and hit the floor, the thunder clapped. He jumped slightly at the sound. His head felt as if it had a storm of its own inside. Glancing over at the nightstand he saw his bottle of Jameson slightly covering the clock that read 2:00 AM. He grabbed the bottle and quickly swigged it back. That'll clear the clouds from his mind. Feeling the warm rush through his throat he wondered why he ever stopped drinking.

He took another big gulp. The burning now hitting his lungs, he coughed and ran for the bathroom. Now, dry heaving over the toilet, he figured it was time to rethink drinking after waking up. That thought quickly left his mind as the warmth crept over him. He could feel his mind losing tension. He sat up, saw himself in the mirror and the man staring back at him looked hallow. The bags under his eyes darkened and sunk deeper every day. His face pale but still a hint of color like there was still something left inside of him. He ran cold water in the sink. It sounded like the Hoover Dam letting loose. It's amazing how much louder everything gets at night.

As he was walking back to his bed for another night of fleeting thoughts, he stepped past his dresser. On top of it sat his pistol. A gift from his grandfather. An army issued Colt .45 he had received during his time training dogs during the war.

“This is only to be used for protection. There are a lot of psychos out there.” He said giving Henry the gun when he had found his first apartment. Staring at it, he could only think of how many times that barrel had felt his temple. He sat on the edge of his bed, face laying in the palms of his hands.

“One more big drink. You can do it. Its time to sleep and you need your medicine.” If he drank the rest of it tonight, he'd definitely have to go out tomorrow. He had no desire to see another face anytime soon. The fake smiles of people lying to themselves about wanting to be where they were. How he was greeted by the same people at the liquor store with the old jokes about drinking alone, again. Always wondering whether or not people were generally happy or putting up the same facade he wore while out on the town. And what about the morning pick me up he had grown so fond of? He could just try and sleep now, save the rest for tomorrow. This would help him get through the dance at the liquor store.

He debated this over and over in his mind. Having sat in his own head for who knows how long, it was getting too late to attempt to sleep without the warm blanket of liquor over him. The decision was fairly easy at that point. He downed the last of it and fell to his pillow. His head hanging off to the side of the bed in case he felt the urge to vomit. He didn't care about it hitting the floor.

“I could always clean it in the morning, or maybe I should finally get a dog. They love puke.” His last thought before finally drifting off.

The morning hours faded in and Henry was awake by 6 AM. He had worked as a farm hand for almost eight years and that had always the time he woke up to feed the chickens. Now being unemployed for the past year, he was still waking up bright and early to suffer through an entire day. While it is great to get up in the morning and jump start the depression early, it makes the desire that much stronger to get to the liquor store. He was still slightly drunk and needed to sleep it off. If he could get back to sleep somehow then he could wake up and head to his favorite bar, The Point. He could have a few rounds with some bar flies. Then he could head off to the liquor store for some fake smiles and tired jokes. Henry got to his kitchen and opened up the cabinet to find, to his surprise, a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels laying behind some cereal boxes. Without thinking he drank half of what was left and went right back to sleep. It started to rain, again.

He woke up and saw the flash of lightning. He had slept until the late afternoon. Now was the perfect time to head to the bar. It wouldn't seem like he had a problem drinking if he seemed “busy” all morning and he was just coming in for a quick beer. Henry climbed out of bed and felt dizzy as he stood up. He hadn't slept off the liquor yet. Waking up slightly drunk did have its perks though. There was no hangover, the depression seemed quiet for now, and his mood was better. Although, his mood might have been up due to the fact that he was only a shower away from getting to The Point.

“Wouldn’t want people to smell the failure on me.” The water hit him like the raindrops outside his window. This was oddly soothing. He got out and dried himself off. He had always had the softest towels. A simple pleasure. When Henry got to the mirror he wiped the condensation from the glass. His hair was still wet. While he was focused on this fact, a flash of lighting struck outside, followed by the thunder. He got a small shiver down the back of his neck. Henry got himself dressed and headed out. He got the idea on his walk to head to the liquor store first. It was only a short walk to the pub from there anyway.

He walked through the automatic doors and was greeted by the store clerk. A cute girl who always smiled when he walked in. She was one whom smile was entirely fake. Anyone could see that.

“He’s back for another party of one?” She said already holding the Jameson bottle. Same joke, different day. A few years ago he might have actually tried to talk to her.

“Well, it could be a party of two.” He said that line over and over in his head every time he left. He knew nothing would happen now. She's seen him come in every other day for a few years now. No way to hide the fact he was a drunk. He thanked her and left. His focus solely on the first beer at the bar.

It continued to rain the entire walk to the pub. He couldn't remember the last time it came down like this. When he walked in, the familiar smell of stale beer and cigarettes filled the air. Through the smoke, he could see the usual patrons hunched over the bar. They didn't even glance up when he walked in. That didn't matter because he saw the only important person smiling at him, Charlie.

Charlie was the owner and bartender at the Point. He had been there for the past 10 years with a smile and a cold glass for anyone who walked through the door. Charlie and Henry had known each other for quite some time now. Charlie threw him out a few times for getting too drunk and being obnoxious. That comes with the territory. The usual ups and downs of any alcoholic relationship. A few years back, though, Charlie had to call the police because of Henry.

He stumbled in already drunk, carrying his grandfather’s pistol. He didn't intend on hurting anyone. He had blacked out and carried it to the bar. Charlie had to wrestle him to the ground to keep Henry from hurting anyone. After that, the bar was never the same for him. Charlie was always distant towards him and the bar felt colder.

He walked up to the bar not paying attention to anyone else and ordered a tall beer. Charlie was already pouring it. Although he had already been steadily drinking all day, that first sip gave him a slight chill. It was either the beer or the fact that it was quieter than usual in the bar tonight.

“I don't know what I’d do without you.” Henry smiled.

“Are you talking to me or the beer?”

“Feels like I’m always talking to the beer nowadays” Henry shivered slightly after finishing off the first glass. His head still wet from the rain.

“Can I get some Jameson, Charlie? Nothing warms the blood like a good shot.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” He laughed pouring the Jameson. Henry lifted the glass and winked as he took the shot back. Something was off when the glass hit the table. He saw Charlie leaning over the bar smiling back at him. There was nothing behind his eyes anymore. He had the empty grin he had seen on so many people’s faces, but never on Charlie’s. Henry went to speak but stopped himself. He felt something rattle in his mouth. He spat it into the shot glass. His eyes widened when he realized what it was. A bullet. The same bullet from his grandfather’s Colt. Looking up to ask what kind of sick joke this was; he saw in horror that Charlie no longer had a smile on his face. It had a blank expression and his skin was pale. There was a wound just above his heart. His shirt was red with blood. He looked around to see who had done this and suddenly, he realized something. Not a single person had moved since he came in. It wasn't unusually quiet in the bar. It was silent. Everyone around him was frozen in time.

The lights began to flicker as he looked back over the bar top. Charlie was falling over onto Henry and he was knocked off his barstool. He opened his eyes. His head hit what felt like concrete as he rolled out of bed. He was drenched in sweat. The floor felt cold. He reached forward to find something to grab onto but was met by cold, steel bars. He pulled himself up and looked around his cell. Two guards were standing over him. They both pulled Henry to his feet. A priest was waiting for him outside the cell.

“It’s time to go now, Henry.” He said as the guards began snapping shackles to his wrists and ankles. The lights above him began to flicker, as he was walked down the corridor.