Thread 2
The stranger drifted into the bar completely oblivious to all that surrounded his presence. The yearning of succor is what drove all movement. To calm the beast that rose unaided in his bloodstream, that coiled around his lungs, and squeezed veins in torment. It screeched as only an unholy never ending thing could.
It needed, it needed....something...he was unable to supply. Something that was never dwelt upon. To stave off greater madness than these. It would all be better once alcohol was in hand. It would silence that great beast. As the stranger crashed into a seat; barely lifting his hooded head, his finger motioned for a drink. Not one, not two, but 3. A gravely voice that hinted at dehydration, and darker things whispered his order. The bartender went to speak up, but hesitated. The hunched shoulders, and the listless demeanor of the customer surrounded by patrons far livelier, than himself gave pause to any concern the bartender contemplated voicing. Something nudged at his senses buzzing w/ warnings of keeping quiet. PEACE, they seemed to flare...PEACE. The man backed up suddenly not so sure about what was considered a safe proximity, and busily went to work.
As soon as the lights reflected off of the chilled glass causing water to drip slowly down it's sides; a dusty hand shot out as quick as a viper, snatching and swallowing without a hint of preparation. The bartender gaze flickered to the side while noticing. A true drinker this one, he thought. The man was craving spirits. A thump on the wooden table signaled for another. The man began tapping on the edge w/ his fingertips dark, and encrusted w/ dirt. The hood concealed tense shoulders, and a far away look.
These people knew not who wandered in to dwell among them, and what wanted out. They knew nothing beyond themselves, the limited perceptions, and frivolous pursuits of those who knew no better.
To the stranger they were buzzing. A grand cacophony of background music. Their lives were like dragonflies. As they flittered about in some wayward way. Always distracted, fleeting, and never fully solid in their comprehension.
The next drink was something heavenly not unlike the first, but it didn't leave him feeling it'd be his last.
Alcohol burned down his throat inflaming his insides in a comfortable way. It drove the beast to silence.
The trading of one ache for another. Let the pain of headaches, nausea, and fog take away the voices, the never ending promise of pain.
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A man who wandered for many years, never quite remembered his name.
Drawn to the inexplicable, ominous, but lost all the same.
From pillar to post was he.
He couldn't recall when his journey began, but it's supposed he was born in the world's end. A dying memory fading from sight when he woke up one night.
Floundering in the freezing air, with nothing, but nothing except the earth for a bed.
On craggy shore, on a moonless night and not a single soul in sight.
Mercy as foreign as it was, visited, but only once in the form of a man, who gave him a job. Doing what came natural to one such as the...traveling, traveling, traveling.
The beast demanded offerings in blood. So sacrifices were made of those who scattered from the lawful ways of men. Death came hungry and remorseless. A vision in black poised with a silvery sheen. Blackened eyes and matted hair. The soulless one without a care. On those dark dark nights; while he lays in bed bone weary. He thinks he might be searching for something. Something....so pristine, that his filthy hands can't touch it, it resonates in the depths of nothingness, as the beast lingers, and dissipates.
The End.
(Oh, how I love my drabbles. lol)