It was 2:30 in the morning and the beer was steadily flowing. The worst part was that I wasn't even drunk. No buzz. I just sat there, staring out my window at the mad world. It was late but out there everything was happening. Everyone was bumping into each other. All chaos, and to think that somewhere out there, people were living normal, quiet lives.

Everyone out there was drunk. Only a few were handling it well. Most were arguing with each other, some in physical confrontations. One big pissing match. I grabbed my cigarettes and sat outside the window. No one noticed me, not even the police when they finally showed up. Some ran, some just got on the ground, others fought. The cigarettes burned slowly.

The cops spent a good hour trying to restore the peace but they couldn't. The mob was too strong. Even the ones that laid down or ran were fighting now. Men were on the ground, bleeding, screaming for help, mercy. They were all for the cause moments before but now, faced with their mortality, they abandoned everything, everything except their god.

I drank beer as I listened to them repent and swear to God that they wouldn't commit the sins they have anymore. I was finishing the six pack on the window sill when my phone rang. It was the chief of police, Tom Lambert.

"Hey Ryan, it's Tom. Look, we got a situation goin' on right now," you could tell he was scared of what was out there.

"Yeah I know. It's going on right outside my apartment."

"Good so you can get down there quickly."

"What? Wait a minute. You want me to try and end this madness?"

"Come on Ryan, you know they will listen to you."

"Well all right, just let me put some shoes on."

I hung up the phone and searched for my sandals. It took awhile and I could still hear the screams coming through my window, hurrying me. Before heading out the door I opened up another bottle of beer.

Outside it was cool and the moon shined high in the ski. I looked down at the bodies. Poor sons of bitches. They were still yelling for God until they saw me at the bottom of the stairs. Then they became quiet. I walked amongst them for a few minutes. Finally, I stopped next to a big pine tree and finished the beer. I threw the bottle behind me and gave everyone a stern look.

"Look, you all have been damn fools. Every damn one of you is a goner. Did you really think you could live a life like mine? Did you really think that you could stop it? Your comrades have left, both sides have called a truce, yet here you lie.

I walked up and down the scattered rows of bodies and watched them expire one by one. After a half hour there were only two men left, a drunk and an officer. I looked down at both of them. They were quiet but were staring at each other hatefully.

"Damn," I said to the drunk, "you're pretty fucked up."

The drunk tried to sit up a little more, "Yeah well at least I ain't as bad as that fucker over there."

I looked down at the officer and I couldn't believe it. He was only shot in the shoulder. He wasn't going to die. "I hate to tell you this but he ain't gonna die," I said to the drunk.

"I'm not?" asked the officer, shocked.

"No, you were hit in the shoulder, straight through. No organs or arteries hit. You will be fine, but this guy," I looked over at the drunk, "he's done for."

Just then the drunk looked up at me and said, "You know what Hall? You can be an asshole sometimes." He died seconds later.

I patched up the officer and took him to a bar down the street. We went back and forth buying rounds of beer and whiskey and he told me about himself. His name was James, married to his wife Sally for five years. Two children, both boys, Junior and Nathan, named after James' father. He became a cop to protect his community. He wanted to save it, save it from drunks like me.

"You know before you came down there, all I was doing was asking God to forgive me and if he let me live I would change, be a better man," James said staring into his glass of Bushmills.

"Yeah I heard. All of you were, it was almost deafening."

"No, but I really meant it and still do. See, I have been cheating on my wife for over a year now. I love her but Kelly, she's just different. There is something about her."

"I understand that."

"But I am going to change. I love my wife. I can't hurt her anymore."

We continued drinking well past sunrise. James told me all about Kelly. He was going to show me a picture of her when his phone rang. It was none other than Kelly. They talked briefly then he hung up and finished his beer.

"Well I had a great time and thanks for everything but that was Kelly and she wants me to come over."

"But what about everything you just told me? What about changing?"

"No I am just thinking I should break things off in person."

"BULLSHIT! You're going to fuck her. Fuck her and forget everything else."

"Look, you know I have to be honest with you. I probably will sleep with her but change takes time."

"All it takes is will. And you don't have to be honest with me. You have to be honest with Sally, your WIFE."

James put on his coat and walked to the door., "You know, you are an asshole."

He was gone and the only thing I was left with was the tab.

The Things I Couldn't Say to You In Person

It took him less than an hour to push out another story, another poem, hell, another drunken ramble and they ate it up. Thanks to the 21st century, his babble hit the masses within seconds. He could see them all sitting in front of their blue screens, hitting the refresh button, waiting.

They all knew it was coming, nothing was a secret. He put his life up there for everyone to see. Tweets, status updates, video rants. Part of him did it for them, it helped keep them away. Soaking up all this generic bullshit made them all feel like his best friend. He worked harder at that then the blank page.

The other part did it because he was drunk.

What idiots he thought. "They wonder where I get this stuff, why I do it. Can't they see? All they have to do is take off the gloves and not give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks."

The reviews were coming in now. Most were the same. "You're the greatest thing since Hemingway!" He hated that, being compared to Hemingway, or Bukowski, or Hank Moody. He respected them all, even the one that wasn't real. Yet, he didn't like to think that he was embodying these people, it was more like he was heading down the same slippery slope they all traveled before him. Fuck, people could be dumb, he laughed to himself.

Then he saw the note from his mother, "I hope you are ok."

FUCK FUCK FUCK! She shouldn't see this, he thought. The acquaintances, "friends," co workers, fan boys, young lady admirers, sure they could read all they want, but his mother; there was no reason for her to see how fucked up his life was. That was why he escaped home in the first place.

It got to him more and more when he saw the comments from the girls asking to see him, and the girls asking to see him again. He had disappointed his mother. Her friends and coworkers saw this shit and he was sure that bothered her as well. Hell, he fucked a few of them and they hinted to that shit when in the messages they left him.

He got up and grabbed his phone and a beer. He had to tell her he was ok, he couldn't apologize for everything, but he could give her some peace of mind. That would be enough.

As he looked through his phone for his mother's number someone knocked at the door. "SHIT!" he yelled. It was Cindy, he forgot she was coming today.

He let her in and they talked for awhile and after a few drinks they moved to the bedroom. Same old play, different cast. He had beer, a place to stay, food in the fridge, and a young woman of 19 laying naked in his bed. His latest story was a hit. It was all he wanted out of life and he was happy.

He regretted never calling his mother, though. Part of it was because he loved her. The other part was because he was drunk.







there's no F'in christmas!

you're right mom. there is no f in christmas. :)