Memoirs Of A God

          It was at least three in the morning, during the middle of the weekend, Murdoc sitting in his dark dare it be said, disgusting, bedroom, tears running down hollow cheeks and fire burning down and destroying his throat from a heavy mix of run and vodka. He had gone from writing a few select songs for "Humanz" to rambling too himself about his hell-feuled childhood. He had turned into a blubbering hot mess, tears smearing almost all the words scratched into the light tannish paper, ink written letters tumbling together. He continued toblrtbout sobs, tying half-heartedly to choke them back. He couldn't stand the thoughts of his father, along with many other bar patrons throwing him from side to side, nearly beating him to death, touching his body in places that were in no way appropriate for a six year old child. His older brother, Hannibal, had been one of his only hopes for protection or comfort, but had been thrown in jail year after year since the age if sixteen or seventeen, which made Murdoc's own life about three thousand times worse.
          He knew what his experiences had done to his ways of thinking and his personality, and it had honestly been tiring him greatly, especially when thinking about what'd he'd dojebin the last ten or fifteen years. His thoughts especially traveled to what he'd done to the, now in his thirties, Stuart "2D" Pot. It was the worst he'd done to his fellow band mate, even when taking into consideration how the two had met. Even a motor accident as horrible ad that wasn't as bad as a torturous, almost murderous kidnapping., especially when 2D thought he had finally gotten away from the old as all hell satanist. It had taken him years to realize how horrible his actions had been, but now it had absolutely destroyed him from the inside out.
           Even his drunken, sad head back on the trash island kept telling him he'd done wrong, and he had just continued to ignore it. The absurd series of thoughts had only recently made their way back into his mind, both shocking and depressing him deeply. He spent the entire day after drinking himself into a month long, coma, before yelling at his band for causing the troubling event to occur, before locking himself back into his black hole of a bedroom. Even after coming back out, he continued to fall deeper and deeper. He had had begun to switch between extreme anger, though he was no longer physically violent towards him, and extreme kindness toward Stu, lying about his interest in sadism and masochism to hide the duty he felt to cause himself overly extreme amounts of pain to compensate for his sins.
         The older man's thoughts had begun to drift farther from the world's light, even more so than he thought to be possible. He had taken to methods of self-harm once again. He chose something much less obvious than using a razor blade or pocket knife, instead taking to his lighter and chain smoking addiction. He had began to put out the burning sticks of paper and chemicals on his own body, no matter the circumstances. Small, dried up or even infected burns covered his entire body, from his neck, to his bare, somewhat hairy bum, and down to his feet.
         Suicide had even begun to cross through his mind again, the first time since the ages of twenty or thirty. The only things stopping him were actually meeting and having to stand up to God himself, as well as what would happen to the world, including his band's place in it. He had started to worry about what'd happen to Russel, Noodle, his singer, but he greatly doubted they'd give a shit. He remembered being beaten to all hell, multiple times, by Russ. His nose had never truly healed from it, including the trauma from his childhood.
         When he really did think about his childhood he realized that he'd never really gotten over his hellhole of a past. It wasn't until the age of ten or twelve before beginning to reach for that bottle of tequila, beer, anything, instead of having it forced down his throat to knock him out cold. He unfortunately still couldn't get to sleep without drinking or drugging himself to a near death state. He usually stayed up to at least three or four, except when he went out, stepping onto the piss stained welcome mat at the first light of dawn. The loud crash usually woke his spacey singer up, the young, blunette man rushing downstairs to wrap a skinny arm around his waist and help him to bed.
            It had happened the night before, and had really got the gears turning in his head. He had stayed in his room since, not eating, unable to sleep, pissing into old liquor and alcohol bottles, scattered and hidden underneath Lucierferian prints and articles covering the ground. He had began to fall out of his routine, feeling much too down to continue with his prayer and practices. He had used the excuse of writing music and he was honestly surprised no one had seen past his most recent series of pure lies. The only things floating through his mind were ways to finally repay his bluebird and reflecting on just how horrible he was in general. All his thoughts had dealt with music, taking the man out, presents, more light hearted productions.
          After about three to four more hours of unrelented sobs, an idea popped into his clouded train of thought. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier in the last few days, qnd it honestly seemed like the perfect solution, to pretty much all of his problems, whether it be mental or emotional. He knew it would save his bluebird, especially with the pressure taken off both their minds. Russel would be ablenyoncalm his mind and finally get away, maybe find a way to speak to Del once again. Noodle would have the opportunity to go out and live her own life, really experience the universe for herself.
         He actually couldn't believe he hadn't tried the seemingly brilliant solution before. He could steal some of 2D's painkillers, choking down a bottle or two would send him right to the grave. He stood up, ancient legs shaking, nearly falling over. He took a deep breath, one hand giving a death grib to the giant slab of oak woof, his other hand squeezing around the neck of his bottle, a mix of Ireland's finest craft beer and Costa Rican Rum. He kicked open his door, nearly busting a hole in the rotten material, before stumbling his way into the hall bathroom, all while taking a long swig of his favorite heart burn-causing, heart-stopping cocktail.
           He opened up the medicine cabinet, nearly slammingbthr brown, translucent bottle onto the counter. He nearly broke the glass door against the tan colored wall, which seemed to have a strange, forest green stain, flecks of muted orange and mustard yellow mixed into the marking, dragging down the wall. Murdoc let out a heavy grosn and rolled his eyes at the disgustingly bad smell, before leaning against the marble counter, red and yellow tinted drool trailing into the sink basin. He began to dig through the short thin pantry, shoving his wrinkly, gangly hands past bottled of cough syrup and boxes of Sponge Bob and Hello Kitty plasters, knocking heapsbof useless materials and objects to the freezing tiled floor. He finally wrapped his long, crooked fingers around a small, translucent orange bottle, a white sticker with the name "STUART POT" in exaggerated capital letters stuck to the backside. He let a grin spread from ear to ear, his wrinkles stretching out like a witch's. He unscrewed the bottle and slid down, back against the wooden cabinet as he popped the simple lid off, clacking againtldt the floor as he leant back, eyes squeezed shut and bottle positioned to pour into his esophagus.
        The large amount of clatter, yelling and groaning had woken up another man, his bedroom only being one or two spaces away. Stuart shot up out from under the cover, shivering at the rush of cold, windy air being produced from the air conditioner above his door. A slight, more casual headache pounded through him, jerking him into full awareness. He shuddered and clambered out of bed, throwing on s white, ratty t-shirt over pink boxer briefs. He flipped on the light switch and nearly tripped over his own feet before running, accidently, into the hallway, trying to find the source of the deafening sounds.
         He took a few moments as he made his way down the hall, clearing his mind enough to be able to get some thoughts through the fog. He finally realized that it must've had something to do with Murdoc. He could've gotten home, too drunk to fully move, might've brought home a bird or bloke, there were loads of possibilities. He just really hoped that it turned out to be one of the better chances the world could currently give him. He took a step into the roughed up bathroom and let out a gasp, black eyes widening as he subconsciously covered his mouth with his hands, trying to hide his sudden shock.
            He saw the man that he had grown to both fear and respect sitting on the ground, sobbing, close to ending his own life. He stood still, frigid, for a moment, simply staring in pure, unadulterated horror. He finally ran, clumsily, into the took, dropping to his knees and nearly slapping the bottle out of his idol's trembling hands. He had always feared this happening. No matter what the hell Murdoc did, Start didn't believe the man, a reincarnation of the devil in his own right, deserved to lose his , somewhat surprising, life.
         Murdoc tiredly glanced down at the bottle and was about to let out a harrowing growl, before looking looking down and shaking his head, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. He let 2D pull him up by the waist, arms wrapped around him. 2D carried the older man into his bedroom, laying Jim down, smoothing out the black, wrinkled sweater with shaky hands. The way older, now obviously depressed man fell asleep rather quickly. 2D decided to take his place beside the other, curling up on top of the, possibly real, fur blanket. He sang and whispered gentle songs and melodies into the snoring man's ear, some they had even written together, hand in hand, before passing out beside the other, arms and legs wrapped tightly around the other's somewhat pudgey, yet thin, body. He fell asleep directly after pressing a gentle, barely there kiss to his cheek.