Fuck Life

"Life screws us all up

Some worse than others

Your whole life goes pop

And you dumped by your brothers,"

Victor sang along to the latest single of the Doom Boyz as he drowned his sorrows through the hard rap and the bottle of alcohol in his hands.

His room was worse than a mess and the dim light of his room did little to dull curious eyes.

Dirty clothes strewn everywhere, old pizza boxes, plastic cups, bottles of coke and packets of crisps littered all over, the bottles of alcohol in the corner… the room was a germaphobe's worst nightmare.

The pungent stench of rotten food, vomit, and other equally disgusting scents mixed together like the fusion of music at an orchestra, only this time it targeted the olfactory senses… and not in a good way.

Victor didn't give a damn though.

This mess and stench was but the meat on a mosquito compared to his current troubles and state which was akin to a huge elephant that couldn't be moved.

"You suffocating, you dying,

You wanna live but can't find life worth living,

You keep trying

But at the end reality hits you in the face when you dreaming

Fuck life,"

Victor continued to sing along, tapping his feet to the rhythm and bobbing his head while drunkenly lifting his bottle up, shouting "Fuck life!"

He took a swig and downed the rest of the hard liquor and threw the empty bottle away without a care.

"More… I need more!' Victor muttered out loud as he rose up from the worn out couch which heavily reeked of vomit and alcohol.

He staggered to the corner of his room where he kept his stash of liquor but to his drunken dismay, there was none!

He was out of stock!

"Fuck!" Victor cursed angrily and vented his anger by heavily kicking out at a nearby empty pizza box.

Unsurprisingly, he only ended up missing and sliding before landing on the messy floor with a heavy crash.

Victor groaned as he reached out for the wall, trying to stabilize himself and find his bearings.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself up, all the while cursing under his breath. 

He needed the booze.

Only the booze could help him forget how a once promising genius, earning six figures, had now fallen to the standards of a broken man with no drive and no will to face life.

He was too much of a coward to commit suicide and find peace.

After all, what if life after death was even more terrifying than life itself?

Better the devil you knew than the one you didn't.

Victor let loose a heavy breath which contained so foul an odor that even the most potent skunk would gladly call him ancestor.

His grimy fingers with untrimmed and dirtied fingernails fumbled into the pockets of his dirty jeans which was blacker than blue with the occasional vomit stains on it as he searched his pockets for some dollars to buy booze.

"Aah, there it is," he muttered with glazed eyes and obvious excitement as he pulled out a couple of crumpled ones, twos and a ten-dollar bill.

It was enough to get him two bottles of De Kuyper!

He stuffed the money back into his pockets and then began the hunt for a relatively 'clean' hoodie.

The smell was inconsequential. 

In his inebriated state, it would be a miracle for him to be able to differentiate between chocolate and dog shit; Everything smelled the same.

After tossing and kicking away at the dirty clothes strewn on the floor, he managed to get a light grey hoodie which wasn't that dirty to his drunken eyes and had far fewer splotches of food stains and vomit.

Perfect.

Unhesitatingly, he pulled it on, but not without some difficulty.

He walked to the door and was about to turn the knob before he stopped in his tracks. "I need a cap," he said aloud.

He turned around and his eyes surveyed the waste in front of him, hoping to spot a baseball cap to cover his dirty, matted, dark brown hair which smelled like a fox's burrow.

He managed to spot a blue cap with a gothic C lying next to a bottle of coke and went to pick it up.

Nodding to himself, he got out of the place he called home, headed for the general store which was a few blocks away.

…

Victor pulled the hoodie over his head to cover the baseball cap and stuck his hands deep into his jeans, tightly fisting the money.

His head was down and his back hunched, broken by the wickedness of the world and the cruelty of people.

He walked at a brisk pace, intent on getting his booze and beating a hasty retreat to his house.

The streets were very dangerous at this time of the day, when the sun had gone down, allowing the moon to make her entrance unto the grand stage called sky, along with a multitude of stars.

Those bums living out on the streets were even more desperate than he was.

At least, they were willing to fight for their survival and turf, but him? He wasn't willing to fight for anything ever again.

It wasn't worth it.

The cruel reality had shown him that more often than not, it was better to keep your head the fuck down and accept all the shit life dished to you… probably hoping it won't taste as bad as it looked.

A couple of black dudes wearing matching black leather jackets and hoodies with a crown of sorts stitched on it came in view. Their backs leaned against the wall, smoking joints as they conversed in low whispers, their vigilant eyes never left the street.

Street Kings… Victor took a peek at them before quickly lowering his head.

They were the gang that ran this side of town. 

They were mostly black with the occasional Asian and they were easily identifiable by their jackets.

Unlike other gangs, their acts of violence were on the lighter side; minor extortions here and there, a couple of burglaries and theft… nothing too bloody.

Well, things got bloody and real messy when the opposing gang from the other side of town, the Lobos, a slew of Latino and Caucasian trigger happy degenerates, showed up anywhere near their territory.

More often than not, many things had been destroyed and many innocents caught up in the line of fire.

Of course, the Street Kings offered protection services too and charged stores around for it.

That way, if a turf war erupted, they would have the fights away from the stores under their protection and thus save the storekeepers from restitution. 

Compared to them and the police, the locals obviously chose the lesser evil; the Street Kings. At least they had a sense of responsibility.

Police officers in areas such as these didn't give a fuck about the local populace. 

For all they cared, they were either gangsters, drug addicts, criminals and the dregs of society. Why the hell would they want to be lumped up with them?

To Victor though, he wanted nothing to do with any of them.

He just wanted to suffer in peace and get on with his life.

Soon enough, he reached the General store and quickly walked in. 

The storekeeper, an old black guy with grayed out hair, glasses and a smiley face looked up to see who it was.

Business was quite slow at these hours.

"Hey Nelly, you still got some of the De Kuyper in there? Give me two bottles," Victor spoke as he leaned against the counter.

"Hello Victor. Yes, I do have some in stock. Give me a moment," Nelly's smile widened as he hurried away to a nearby shelf lined with various liquors and alcoholic booze.

He was more than happy to escape the stench coming from Victor, even if it was for a brief while.

He returned with two bottles with an orange label filled with a colorless booze.

De Kuyper Triple Sec Liqueur…

The good stuff.

Victor's breath quickened as he quickly emptied his pockets onto the counter and snatched the two bottles of booze from the hands of Nelly.

He didn't even bother to check the amount.

Only the booze mattered.

"Thanks, Nelly. I owe you one!" he called over his shoulder as he stumbled out of the General store.

"You forgot your change!" Nelly waved a dollar at his leaving back but Victor didn't even bother to turn.

Nelly sighed and placed the money back on the counter.

He couldn't say he wasn't happy to see that smelly guy leave the store, even if he was the only customer for the night.

…

"That's it… It just hits the spot," Victor moaned in drunken satisfaction as he cracked open one of the bottles there and then, taking a long swig.

Goddamn, he was thirsty.

Victor greedily lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank the alcohol in large glugs, his Adam's apple quivering in pleasure.

Suddenly, he leaned over and retched his guts out.

"Ugh," he moaned as he staggered to a nearby wall for support, all the while vomiting copious amounts of yellowish fluid which smelled as bad as it looked.

It stained his previously white shoes which were caked with mud, food stains and now vomit but he didn't care.

He leaned against the wall and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

A sore and unpleasant taste was left in his mouth after the vomiting and his eyes had teared up due to the excessive retching.

Despite that, he managed to make out the blurry figures of a black van stopping right in front of him.

Huh?

Masked men got out but before he could even ask himself the relevant questions, Victor fainted.