Desesperation has left a bad taste in my mouth, it was the fifth time I packed up my clothing and books.
<< You can't keep going on with this. You know you won't be able to exit this life, and even if you do, you will miss it somehow. You know it. >> I told myself << But I'm so tired of doing the same things everyday. My past follows me everywhere. You're talking with yourself again. Just leave it, keep moving foward with this.>> and so I did. I unpacked my clothing and books once again, I left it all on the floor, and stared at it for... How many time did I stood there? Looking at nothing, waiting, as if the garbments would go back where they were before. My left hand holding my chin, my right hand, holding my skin of wine.
<< What time is it?>> I asked myself, as if I knew the question, the truth is that it was late, I turned my head to the right and looked outside the window, I saw nothing but darkness.
I needed some rest, and so I tried. I layed back against my bed and closed my eyes, but nothing happened, I couldn't sleep, so I started staring at the roof, waiting, but nothing happened. I frowned to myself. << Come on, start sleeping, you idiot.>> I raised from the bed, and stepped on the bag.
I was enraged, I took my boot off it, to kick it with violence, the bag reached the corner of the upper right part of my dark room. Skin of wine in hand, I reached the door with a few steps. I opened it quickly, with my left hand, the summer breeze stroked my cheeks and forehead. I ventured into the streets, feeling miserable.
I sat on the ground with a loud noise, and looked into the dark, waiting for my eyes to get used to the dark. I stood there, impotent and tired, meditating about my decision. I didn't think it anymore. I raised the skin of wine to my mouth, and took a swig of wine. When I lowered the skin, I smiled to myself, before taking another swallow from the wine.
The next day I found myself outside The Pracing Pony, covered in my own vomit.
