Hunting

by RumpledMind Sat Jan 24, 2009 3:57 am

Vomit cascaded from his mouth and he gripped the brick wall to hold steady. His vision was like a film reel repeating the same image over and over again, so he squeezed his eyes shut. The coughing echoed in the still night air and he spat defiantly. Air was hard to come by, and he felt as though he might pass out. Noting to eat for days, but plenty of cigarettes and malt liquor. Alister was dying. It was slow suicide. Trouble was, when he reached this point, the only thing he could think about was Rodrick. How nice it would be if Rodrick were here. If only they hadn't had that silly fight.

If only...

If...

...

_______________________________________________________________________________

The sun? Oh shit, no, not the sun. Oh God. He'd fallen asleep in that alley. Right next to the former contents of his stomach. This was going to be one of those days, he could feel it. Nothing gave him the urge to move from where he was, or even to open his eyes. He was still dying. Maybe if he just stayed where he was, just leaned against that building for a little longer, he'd just die. Maybe it would be that easy. He'd been through three cities in the last month, asked everyone he saw, but no leads. No leads for a month. His track had run cold. The first lead in years turned out to be a dud. Alister Dor hadn't a friend in the world, not any he could find anyway.

Then came the thought that always managed to rip him out of his funk, "What if today is the day? What if the person I'm supposed to ask walks down the street while I'm laying in an alley feeling sorry for myself? Goddammit, I need to find a job." Slowly but surely, he pulled himself up and did his best not to break down into tears. What a mess he'd become. There was blood on him, but he didn't know the origin. He shrugged the thought and stumbled dejectedly into the street.

"What if today is the day?"