Poison

So I’m gonna attempt to write something while I have the energy for it XD let’s hope that it will come out as good as the vibes this line/ prompt idea gave  me. Also, pardon me for the depressing prompt, It seems like this is my brain's default setting XD

[WP] “You know, they say alcohol is a poison” “Then why do you keep drinking it?” “Because there are some parts of me that I need to kill”

I remember back when I was younger, I would always see my grandfather with a whiskey flask wherever he went. When I asked my father, he said it was an adult juice that kept pop’s body warm and that he’s been like that since the war ended. I never believed that those were the only reasons someone would carry a flask around but for a 5-year-old kid, I thought those explanations were enough. 

I asked again when I turned 10 because my father had started drinking the juice regularly as well. He started when my mom passed away. I later discovered that the adult juice my father described was called alcohol. It made him cry a lot and at times, it put him to sleep. Since then, pop’s visited more often and he and my father would often stay up too late, just drinking their alcohol while talking, sometimes crying, sometimes shouting. 

One night, I was woken up by a thud from downstairs. I didn’t even think twice to get out of bed. It was either someone dropped something or someone fell and I knew they’d need help. When I got down, what I saw was my father, sleeping on the floor and pop’s was now covering him with a blanket. Pop’s then stood up straight and ushered me to the front porch to get some air. I had no objection, the cold wind would put me back to sleep was what I thought. 

“You know, your dad is lucky that you look after him so well,” He said bluntly, his voice getting a little hoarse from the cold yet that didn’t stop him from lighting a cigarette.

“Isn’t that normal though? He’s my dad,” I was confused, And for a while, I just stared at Pop’s back that looked increasingly lonely as he exhaled a few puffs of smoke. 

“That boy never did care for me when I came back from the war” A soft hum escaped him as he reached for his whiskey flask this time “His mum made him believe all sorts of rubbish” 

“He said you started drinking when you came back from war. Why was that?” 

He paused just as the opening of the flask was about to touch his lips “I had my reasons, Correon” He muttered more to himself before he took a large gulp from his flask, “Maybe I was trying to see if alcohol really was a poison, like what them folks say” A cheeky grin broke across his face as he was capping the flask again.

“Then why do you keep drinking it?” I looked up at him with concern and I could see that his facade won’t work this time.

“Because there are some parts of me that I need to kill” His voice grew solemn and for a while, we stayed in silence. I busied myself trying to understand what he meant while he finished off his cigarette. Once he exhaled his last puff of smoke, he gestured me back to my room to sleep more. 

The words never left me though. I only knew what it meant when I was in the same shoes as them. When I had lost both of them at the age of 19, I finally understood that it was both body and memory they were trying to kill. So I hope they wait for me a little longer.