Post by mood on Nov 17, 2007 21:42:02 GMT -5
The drink had taken over once again, his mind reeling from the smog the fire liquid brought into the pit of his stomach. His heart had drowned in it ages ago, as he turned away from the light of the World and hid in the darkness of his ever full flask of whiskey. His lips trembled on the edge of the rim, soaking them with the burning fuel that fed his dying flames. Too often his mind roamed to the past, events in his life that he wished he could change, but could only wonder about now. His anger boiled inside him as he turned, tilting slightly on his bad leg, his roaming eyes making a dizzy speed inside his head. The world as he has known it had changed, moving from the crystal clear he had once seen to the land filled with gray. Thoughts were not working in his mind, but only he knew this. It was a secret he held inside of himself, not to share with anyone else ever. Like the true amount of drink he consumed on a regular basis. He wanted to forget everything that had happened to him, the darkness that clouded his eye, making him hate almost all the time as he sunk into his shell. A recluse now, unable to feel the emotion of love, his own strength feeding him through all the pain and suffering, mostly self inflicted as a result of caring too much about too many unworthy people. He sneered to himself, then tossed the empty bottle to the corner of his mangled room. It shattered, sending little sprinkles of glass to dance down the wall, landing in a pile on the ground of his one room apartment. He sneered, and turned to grab the next half full bottle off the little table. His lips trembled again as he slugged down a large gulp, making his head swim in the emotionless life he had found himself in.
It was a lie, he did feel an emotion. He felt hate, a deep and bitter pit of burning hate in his stomach. He roared as he finished off the bottle, swaying heavily on his good leg as his stump played for purchase on the slick floor of the apartment of the flat. He tossed the bottle, shattering it against the far wall, his eyes watching the little crystals spray into the air, showering him with glass. He brushed some out of his hair, and laughed, blood dripping off his cut hand. He shrugged it off, and turned, ripping open the door of his dirty shack of an apartment, and trumped off into the dark night air. He should be watching out for enemies, his mind yelled into his brain, but he decided "To Hell With It". Indeed, to hell with it all, he moved off the sidewalk into a dark alley. Turning on the spot, Alastor blinked out of existence, much like he often wished he could in life. To just be totally gone, away from everything that he saw. The things that made him hurt the most.
Several of his friends were settling down, in love, starting families. He had no concept of this. He thought it was more than foolish to love anyone. Love is weak, and it can be exploited by your enemies. It made him grin a little as he turned into existence off the side street in front of a corner bar. It was a muggle bar, but he did not care. All he wanted to do was drink as much as he could, until his mind feel into oblivion. He thought of taking some of the other muggle drugs that was so often offered to him, and tonight he might actually do just that. He would enjoy maybe dancing on the edge of the razor once again. It was so rare he could actually feel like he was worth something. Often, he just wished the next drink would be the last. And just as often, it never was. He coughed a little and pulled the door open. He stumped into the dirty bar, not caring about his appearance.
The bar was dark, and bitterly cold, which please Alastor greatly. No one even turned to look at him as he clumped on to a shadowy table in the back. He sniffed the air, slightly acrid in the dark, as he sat down. A fat waitress stepped over to him, laying a napkin down on the table, and preparing to write down his order. Alastor growled at how close she got to him, and shoved several green pieces of paper into her hand. The waitress blinked, as Moody gave her more than three hundred muggle dollars. He had know clue what the worth of the money was, nor did he care. He just wanted to drink everything he could get his hands on. Maybe tonight would be the night? He could only hope.
He ordered three bottles of muggle whiskey, and the waitress was more than happy to retrieve it for him, dropping a small shot glass on the table with the three full bottles. Moody knocked the glass off the table and cracked the first seal, his mind not even on the mess he made and the waitress rushing off to be far away from the sour looking man, older looking than he really was. He turned away to stare at the door, drinking the drink sloppily, as the liquid dripped down his shirt, and neck. He smiled, not caring who looked at him, or saw how he acted. He could careless what anyone thought of him. His life was young, but coming to an end. Nothing would stop it, all he could hope for is that he took some of the dark ones with him when he did go. Tonight? He wished, but it did not matter. He had already pushed away every single friend he had, only being nice to a select few. And it did not bother him.
Why should he bother loving someone? Who would want him? Who would not reject him based on the way he looked, acted, and he hated everyone anyway. Love was only a four letter word, best left to stupid people, and those who liked to waste their time dreaming about such ridiculous notions. It did not even make him sad that he had never felt the emotion. In fact, he was pleased he had not been bothered with it. He laughed lightly, finishing already half the bottle he had ordered, and eying the second one, the third still very much in reach. It was going to be one more night of being carried out and dropped in some dumpster or another. And he did not care, perhaps this would be the mourning he did not wake up at all? He smiled again, and chugged the bottle, finishing it in a matter of moments.
Several years ago, he looked young, not beautiful but not ugly. His clear blue eyes would sparkle with charm, making girls turn their heads and smile as he walked by. His long blond hair would wave in the breeze, making him look like he could walk on the air around him. He took pride in what he wore, how he looked, even his diet. But then the dark night came, the Death Eaters raced into action, and the attack on the Potter family was underway. Moody never made it to the site, and was only grateful that Voldomort's plans were ruined. However, the Dark Lord was not the only evil that night, as Moody would recall even in his deepest drunken stupor. In fact, it was one of the reasons he wanted to find that drunken stupor, so he could not relive the living nightmare. Then he had met her, just the night before the attacks. The bitch that died in his arms, body growing cold as Alastor had turned around to curse the attackers. He killed several without blinking, but there was a full count of Death Eaters, and Moody had paid a heavy price to save the little daughter of the woman he had loved. The daughter who currently Moody is the only person who knows who is, where is, and what-not. He sends his full pay to Hogwarts to support the girl, being a secret benific-
He left the thought dead in his mind and cracked the seal on the third bottle, having consumed the second as he thought about that nonsense once again, closing his mind's eye to love and the females who are involved with that shit. He smiled, drinking heavily from the bottle, swaying in his chair, and tipping over. Moody hit the floor with a thud, his fake leg bouncing heavily along with him. The bottle cracked in his hand, sending the rest of the whiskey racing over him. His head rocketed off the floor, and the World went black. Everything except a small set of clear baby blue eyes... eyes that so often made Alastor Moody weep.
It was a lie, he did feel an emotion. He felt hate, a deep and bitter pit of burning hate in his stomach. He roared as he finished off the bottle, swaying heavily on his good leg as his stump played for purchase on the slick floor of the apartment of the flat. He tossed the bottle, shattering it against the far wall, his eyes watching the little crystals spray into the air, showering him with glass. He brushed some out of his hair, and laughed, blood dripping off his cut hand. He shrugged it off, and turned, ripping open the door of his dirty shack of an apartment, and trumped off into the dark night air. He should be watching out for enemies, his mind yelled into his brain, but he decided "To Hell With It". Indeed, to hell with it all, he moved off the sidewalk into a dark alley. Turning on the spot, Alastor blinked out of existence, much like he often wished he could in life. To just be totally gone, away from everything that he saw. The things that made him hurt the most.
Several of his friends were settling down, in love, starting families. He had no concept of this. He thought it was more than foolish to love anyone. Love is weak, and it can be exploited by your enemies. It made him grin a little as he turned into existence off the side street in front of a corner bar. It was a muggle bar, but he did not care. All he wanted to do was drink as much as he could, until his mind feel into oblivion. He thought of taking some of the other muggle drugs that was so often offered to him, and tonight he might actually do just that. He would enjoy maybe dancing on the edge of the razor once again. It was so rare he could actually feel like he was worth something. Often, he just wished the next drink would be the last. And just as often, it never was. He coughed a little and pulled the door open. He stumped into the dirty bar, not caring about his appearance.
The bar was dark, and bitterly cold, which please Alastor greatly. No one even turned to look at him as he clumped on to a shadowy table in the back. He sniffed the air, slightly acrid in the dark, as he sat down. A fat waitress stepped over to him, laying a napkin down on the table, and preparing to write down his order. Alastor growled at how close she got to him, and shoved several green pieces of paper into her hand. The waitress blinked, as Moody gave her more than three hundred muggle dollars. He had know clue what the worth of the money was, nor did he care. He just wanted to drink everything he could get his hands on. Maybe tonight would be the night? He could only hope.
He ordered three bottles of muggle whiskey, and the waitress was more than happy to retrieve it for him, dropping a small shot glass on the table with the three full bottles. Moody knocked the glass off the table and cracked the first seal, his mind not even on the mess he made and the waitress rushing off to be far away from the sour looking man, older looking than he really was. He turned away to stare at the door, drinking the drink sloppily, as the liquid dripped down his shirt, and neck. He smiled, not caring who looked at him, or saw how he acted. He could careless what anyone thought of him. His life was young, but coming to an end. Nothing would stop it, all he could hope for is that he took some of the dark ones with him when he did go. Tonight? He wished, but it did not matter. He had already pushed away every single friend he had, only being nice to a select few. And it did not bother him.
Why should he bother loving someone? Who would want him? Who would not reject him based on the way he looked, acted, and he hated everyone anyway. Love was only a four letter word, best left to stupid people, and those who liked to waste their time dreaming about such ridiculous notions. It did not even make him sad that he had never felt the emotion. In fact, he was pleased he had not been bothered with it. He laughed lightly, finishing already half the bottle he had ordered, and eying the second one, the third still very much in reach. It was going to be one more night of being carried out and dropped in some dumpster or another. And he did not care, perhaps this would be the mourning he did not wake up at all? He smiled again, and chugged the bottle, finishing it in a matter of moments.
Several years ago, he looked young, not beautiful but not ugly. His clear blue eyes would sparkle with charm, making girls turn their heads and smile as he walked by. His long blond hair would wave in the breeze, making him look like he could walk on the air around him. He took pride in what he wore, how he looked, even his diet. But then the dark night came, the Death Eaters raced into action, and the attack on the Potter family was underway. Moody never made it to the site, and was only grateful that Voldomort's plans were ruined. However, the Dark Lord was not the only evil that night, as Moody would recall even in his deepest drunken stupor. In fact, it was one of the reasons he wanted to find that drunken stupor, so he could not relive the living nightmare. Then he had met her, just the night before the attacks. The bitch that died in his arms, body growing cold as Alastor had turned around to curse the attackers. He killed several without blinking, but there was a full count of Death Eaters, and Moody had paid a heavy price to save the little daughter of the woman he had loved. The daughter who currently Moody is the only person who knows who is, where is, and what-not. He sends his full pay to Hogwarts to support the girl, being a secret benific-
He left the thought dead in his mind and cracked the seal on the third bottle, having consumed the second as he thought about that nonsense once again, closing his mind's eye to love and the females who are involved with that shit. He smiled, drinking heavily from the bottle, swaying in his chair, and tipping over. Moody hit the floor with a thud, his fake leg bouncing heavily along with him. The bottle cracked in his hand, sending the rest of the whiskey racing over him. His head rocketed off the floor, and the World went black. Everything except a small set of clear baby blue eyes... eyes that so often made Alastor Moody weep.