Author's Note
Super short one shot, just felt inspired after listening to Elliot Smith's Between the Bars a few times.
Enjoy!
Drink Up
Drink Up
Glacial Stone had just returned home from a strenuous day of mining.
As always, he would come home to a quiet house, after all, his spouse and children had abandoned him many years ago. He would remove his old, battered gear and take off his bright yellow miner's helmet which he would set on the closet nearby the entrance. With a yawn, he stumbled into his living room, portraits of his family hung of from the walls.
They looked so very happy.
His favourite picture, the one from when they visited Canterlot, stood on a rickety, old wooden table which had obviously been a part of the house long before he had moved here. In the picture, it was a bright, sunny day in the glorious meadows surrounding the small town. They were having a picnic, his wife lay on the chequered blanket, a broad smile spread on her face. She had a deep maroon coat with a lovely golden mane, such a beautiful mare she was.
In the background were his two daughters, who were laughing and playing in the background. Everything seemed so perfect in the picture, so serine and precious. He wished that he could go back to that time, he wished that he could take back all the horrible things which had happened.
But he couldn't, nopony could.
Regrets, his life was full of them. All the words he wished he could take back, all the promises he wished he hadn't made, all the hearts he wished he could mend. Some ponies say, that the best way to deal the the past is to forgive yourself and try to move on.
For Glacial Stone, the one and only way to deal with it, was through the vile concoction which had caused all his problems in the first place.
He moved away from the table and instead averted his eyes towards an antique closet. He knew very well of what lied within it's wooden confines. He wandered over to it, his guilt and regret being dwarfed by his need to forget. With a heavy sigh, he pulled open the closet, revealing a vast collection of liquors, ranging from common whiskey, all the way to exquisite and well aged wines.
He wanted something strong, he yearned to let his dark memories blur away,
He selected an especially strong vodka, FillyReyka and meandered his way to his study. He sat down on his usual chair, a strong oak seat, crafted exquisitely with very fine carvings. With the bottle still in his mouth, Glacial planted the vodka on his study desk.
His desk was incredibly messy, old divorce papers and pictures lay scattered everywhere. Of course, he couldn't afford this rather large home with his miners salary, it was left behind for him by his grandfather. He loved his grandfather dearly, much more than his own father, who had expected his cutie mark to be something much more in-line with the family business; Oil.
In his father's eyes, he was always a failure, constantly being outclassed or out done by his older siblings.
"Why can't you be more like your brothers?" Glacial mimicked, a desperately depressing laugh escaping his lips.
With a sigh, he opened his beverage, guilt still heavy on his conscious. Yet as always, his want for escape from reality tugged at him harder. He didn't want to face the past, or the present, or the future. He just wanted everything to pass him, just to simply leave him alone. The violent torrents of life would never release him however, his past would always haunt him.
Whether it be in his dreams, or while he's awake, it never really did matter.
He looked at the bottle again, it was calling to him. It sang to him, like a siren sings her song luring unsuspecting sailors in, only to send them crashing into the dark abyss that is the ocean. However, just like the sailors, he found himself unable to resist, unable to look away, unable to stop himself.
Drink Up Glacial, forget all about your past.
That was enough to send Glacial over the edge.
He gripped the top of the bottle firmly in his teeth and looked towards the ceiling, the liquid pouring into his mouth only to be gulped down his throat. A moment passed, and another, the bottle progressively getting lighter and lighter as it's contents washed down the stallion's oesophagus.
And then, the liquid stopped pouring.
Glacial dropped the bottle, sending it crashing into the wooden tiling where it shattered into a hundred pieces. Everything had gotten blurry, his movement slurred, along with his thought process. One by one, the memories disappeared, he sighed with relief as he reclined back into the chair, his body feeling warm and hot.
This is bliss.
With the memories no longer tormenting him, Glacial attempted to rise out of his chair, only to trip and fall onto the cold wooden flooring.
"Damned... Gnomes..." he slurred to himself as he rose up shakily, read to give the journey another shot.
Each step felt like he was trudging through mud, each thought straining his mind to the point of a mild headache. In what seemed like years, Glacial finally arrived by the door, his impaired form slamming against the borders. With a grunt, he pushed himself into the living room his target, his favourite family picture.
He stumbled and fell multiple times in his drunken journey, often falling face first into the wooden tiling.
He had just reached the table which his portrait stood on, when he collapsed, hitting his head onto the sharp edge of the table, sending it's contents sprawling to the ground. Glacial grimaced as he saw the portrait crack, a moan escaping his lips, only to be cut off by the dark embrace of unconsciousness.
Glacial awoke to the sound of birds chirping.
He raised a white hoof to his head, to his surprise, it came back wet and slightly stained with crimson. He tried to raise himself up, only to discover that his legs felt like somepony had broken them, mended them back together and broken them yet again. So instead, he slumped backwards onto the wall.
His gaze averted to where the shattered picture of his family lay.
He felt his heart drop into his stomach, his favourite picture had been ruined, completely and utterly ruined. Tears began to flow freely as the guilt returned to him. He was a failure, a complete and utter failure. Everypony he had ever loved had left him because of his addiction, because he was too weak to face his problems.
He was pathetic, weak, useless.
Everyday was a constant reminder of that, these pictures laughed at him, taunted him, tormented him. He just wished that it could all stop, that everything would fix itself.
With a sigh, he laid back and let the misery overtake him.
Again.
