Wake Up

Adam walked off of the porch, turning and heading down the sidewalk. It was a chilly day, but the wind made it cooler. The current rushed through his hair, blowing it into his face. He had to constantly push it back, wondering why he bothered. All it did was come back.

He was glad he was wearing the jacket over his t-shirt, along with his dark, slightly-tight jeans. Regardless, though, he was still chilled; it matched how his heart felt right now. He sighed.

As he continued walking, he kicked a stone along the cement path. It was going left and right, but he guided it back. He felt like that stone, with Neil and their bandmates as his sneaker.The only difference being that he went left and right, and seemed to stray further and further away. He'd get to the point where they'd be out of reach if he kept it up.

The mere thought of this made him desire curling up on the ground with a bottle of whiskey to drink himself to the point where he wouldn't know his own name, let alone anything else.

"No," he scolded himself aloud, "your drinking is what caused all of this. You drinking more will make things worse, and wont solve a damn thing. The feeling of it is only temporary, and you'd rather have that than your wife and best friends. You're a mess, Adam. An awful, addicted mess."

Adam sighed more, knowing what he just said to himself was legitimate. Right now, though, it didn't matter as much as it should. His entire life was currently revolving around that bottle, and everything else was being pushed into space.

He thought back to what Neil had said a mere five minuted ago, if that. "I'm not so sure I even know you anymore." Those words were sharper than the blade of a knife, and the gashes left behind were filled with salt. It was agonizing.

What hurt even more than that was the fact that the statement was true. In fact, so true that Adam agreed with it. How could he not, though? Especially since he no longer knew himself.

As of now, the walk back to his apartment felt endless. He shoved his hands into his pockets, still kicking that stone along the ground. It skidded away, he guided it back.

There were small holes in the sidewalk, resembling miniature craters. The stone fell into them, and he got it out, then continued. Again, he felt like that stone; the reason being because the stone was hitting low points in the cement. The difference, though, was that he just seemed to slip further into the grave he was digging himself...