No, I don't Need A Glass

The strong stench of cheap alcohol hit hard on the walls of my nostrils. No, I'm not a lover of alcohol, neither am I a jury to the drunk; I'm just that fellow who had sipped the bitter glasses of life so much that sipping from an alcoholic cup would be many steps far from the gates of sanity.

As the smell of the finely brewed whiskey distills, bit by bit, I began to drown in its intoxication, and I found my consciousness drifting from me.

I saw myself gliding into a new and peaceful world devoid of nagging from a hostile wife and quarreling from a ranting neighbor.

In piecemeal, I forgot there was no cent in my wallet, and the queue of creditors waiting to peel my skin off my bones gradually faded in the mist.

"Where am I? Which realm is this? Is this heaven? I love it here," I said to my inner self. But the strolling wind brought back reality to me, then I realized I was sitting a few meters from drinkers, and it was the alcohol oozing from their table that made me high.

"Do you need a glass?" one of them walked over to me, offering me a taste of the green bottle. Certainly, a taste would help me forget my wars and worries. But then what next? The illusions will eventually fade, and the threads of reality will return.

I am not a coward; I rather fight my battles forever than hide behind the flames of illusion for a while. "No sir, I'm fine; I don't need a glass." I bowed politely and walked away.