Each day for me was a pain. I was dying minute by minute, no matter where I turned doom and despair seemed to follow me. Currently I was hugging the toilet like it was my lifeline heaving my stomachs contents into it. This was a common occurance for me these past few days. 'The name's Alex D'Cruz don't wear it out.'

I stood up from the dirty toilet which was a great feat considering that I am smashed as hell but was that going to stop me 'Nope!' I made my way to basin washed my face and went back to the bar stool I was just sitting on. "Dude fill me up again?" I shouted to the tender, he just stared at me

"Kid you already have had enough you're gonna kill yourself at this rate!"

I just laughed "I'm already dying, man this might just fasten the process, give me my Vodka."

I was practically slurring by now but who cares "and keep it coming"

God knew how long I was there staring at my drink. It was snowing outside I stood up paying I walked out. There was something about winters that just made my life seem just a bit better. For a guy who lived most of his life in ñ India, snow was a big thing. I was too drunk to drive and the only way to get back was by cab, and today seemed to be my day I called out "TAXI" ! At the highest voice I could muster thankfully he heard and stopped. "where to?" He asked

" 8th Avenue" I said and got in.


I took our my earphones stuffed them in my ears and plugged them to my phone. Music was the only thing that could stop me from vomiting in the cab. I don't know but something about music soothes my whole body. Traffic was horrible but still there was no cursing or honking god it was weird to go from noisy pissed off drivers to quiet calm roads, my ears felt odd the first couple of months I was here because of the silence. I noticed the guy knocking on the glass between him and me, what was that called again? God knows what, never saw it in India. "We're here man"

I smiled "Yeah thanks" I said paying him I got out.


I had a bit more control over my body by now 'hope I make it to the bed this time, the floor is not a good place to sleep' I walked towards my apartment, The Whitby, it was one of the many luxuries I had indulged myself in after starting my company. Right now I was just a figurehead for the company, after I was diagnosed with my disease. After all no one wants a dying man to ruin the company, bad publicity you see. Well I'm already dying who cares.

I was finally near my home when I bumped into a lady, I mumbled out an ‘I'm sorry’ to her, just trying to get home before I pass out on the road I saw her face widening she stared at me for what seemed like eternity.

I shrugged and walked off. I could still feel her eyes watching me 'what was her problem?' I did say I was sorry! I tried to forget all of that and took the lift to my floor, opening the door to my apartment

I walked in closing the door behind me. I was too tired to bathe or brush my teeth, that could all come tomorrow I got out of my shirt and jeans and plopped myself on the bed, the goddess of sleep wrapping me in her bosom.


About the author

Abraham Livingstone


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