Dystopolis: 2.3

nsomnia was what drove him to drink. The thought ran through Adam's mind for a long time as he looked at his glass affectionately. He couldn't sleep without a drink - at least one - and several put him out. The bottle of scotch he just finished fell to the floor with a clunk. "Ah, m-lady, my apologies." He bowed.

The steps leading to the basement were dark and Adam had to feel his way down. "Eight and nine to the floor - ahh!" He fell and his glass broke on the wall next to him. "Yes, ten steps, not nine." The thought of the full bottles in the next room made him smile as he sat in the darkness. "I'm coming for you!"

Adam chuckled at his joke as he flipped on the light. No horror of recent days was worse: the floor was soaked and reeked of liquor. "No! Wha - ?" He sat and stared at the empty bottles on the shelves, at the broken ones on the floor, and wept. His eye caught his shotgun; the barrel had glass in it, and the whole of it was sopping with alcohol. He considered using it right there where he sat, but another idea prevailed.

"Zoe!" He raged upstairs and into the dinning room. "What have I told you about going into the basement?" He swung the gun at her and knocked her to the floor. The sight of her on the floor, her hair askew and her body lumped, snapped Adam out of his anger. "Oh, I'm sorry - I didn't mean it!" He took her head in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Please, please forgive me!"

The fire flickered in the corner. "I'll never do it again, please forgive me!" He helped Zoe into a chair, and to show her he was serious, he threw the shotgun into the fire.

Adam realized his folly too late. The memory of it ate at him in the study now, his insomnia only allowing him to sleep with bloody dreams.

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