Aldo Nox

The Beginning to an End

The band that filled the bar with static background noise had long packed up their instruments and walked through the door. Besides the bartender, I was the only one in the bar. I was allowed to stay late due to certain favors I offered the owner of the bar; I supplied him things that left his body thin, and his eyes awake. The bartender had olive skin and pointed ears, but would not tell me if he was elvish or had a cosmetic procedure. Or, I suppose, he could have been only half elf. He kept passing me tall glasses of the strongest the bar could offer. The bitter, burning taste of the alcohol stopped bothering me long ago.

I kept drinking despite already puking twice. Each time the only warning my body gave me was heat rising from my stomach's core to my face, and after each retching I expected to see red. Or my mother's face, instead of my own, reflecting in the mess. Vomiting reminded me of dewy, spring dirt. The kind that kissed knees when a woman's legs buckled due to the strength of her gagging. The kind of dirt that turned into a waste bin for hot, red vomit.

The concoction of hazardous cleaning chemicals that found their way into my Mother's body would make sure that dewy, spring dirt wouldn't be the only thing that bled. The careful poisoning found ways to stain the walls of our home, every bedsheet, every dress, even my own skin or hair would look like it was stained red.

I drank to forget dewy, spring dirt.

Thankfully spring has already came and went, and now the kingdom was settled into Autumn. My work required for me to wear armor, I personally opted for light leather armor since it was easier to breathe in. I wore metal plating on my knees and elbows though, so in the case of emergency I could drop to my knees and take cover quickly without worrying about hurting myself. On the job I carried a battle axe and a shield, as a shorter half-orc I found that intimidating people was tricky. They assume I am some sort of runt; some have even laughed in my face, but when I am armed intimidation is easier.

Tonight, however, I opted for a large sweater instead of armor. I would not be needed by my employers until tomorrow afternoon. A dagger in my boot was all I needed to feel safe, even when I am not actively working I must be on guard. Working for a cartel meant trouble was always floating, like debris in a lake.

"Hand me the keys," I slurred at the bartender, "I have Julian's shipment, so he wouldn't mind if I closed up." The bartender looked me over, a drunken half-orc with messy, braided twin pigtails, and apparently a drinking a problem. I could picture his thoughts as he mulled over my offer.

"I...I really shouldn't," he seemed nervous when he spoke to me. I assumed he must have realized the kind of job I held since I confessed I had something for his boss. Julian was known to rub coke on his gums while he worked.

"I don't plan on going home," my house was empty, and my Mother's things were still scattered around the house.

"That's alright," he offered me a tight smile, and sat down on a stool behind the bar. I smiled back, and scooted my glass towards the end of the bar, but this time when he went to refill it I asked him not to. Thankful for an opportunity to get out of the room with me, he quickly scuttled to the back to wash my glass. While he was gone I took Julian's ounce of coke, and hid it where he asked me to.

When he elfish looking boy returned I was hunched over on the bar sobbing. Everything in my life revolved around drugs, and it made me feel shameful- dirty. Mother made an honest living; she didn't go through binges of heavy drug use to cope, nor did she support addicts by being their supplier, nor did she guard smugglers, but I? I did all that. As my Mother watched me from her resting place, she probably grew to hate the person I have become.

"I'm a bad daughter," I sobbed onto the polished wood. I could hear the squeaking of the bartender's boots as he shifted his weight from left to right, being made more uncomfortable by my crying.

"I let her die," my sobbing became more aggressive, "I LET HER DIE. I LET HER DIE." I cried in agony, the anguish and guilt consumed me. My brain either refuses to handle my emotional episode further, and fill my body with cravings for a high, or it plays out my Mother's final days. On this night, it reminded me of the earlier days proceeding the first indication of my Mother's illness .

-------
When my Mother got sick I was only sixteen years old, and I was unfamiliar with other people. It took me two days to work up the courage to go to my Mother's employers and explain that she was too ill to work. Of course, this delay pissed them off, and I was treated very coldly.

"Miryl is very ill, but I am equally capable for work," I spoke in my softest voice, and tried to use my gentle eyes and round face to my advantage, so I could take my Mother's old job, "We apologize sincerely for the inconvenience."

"Orc," the head of the house said to me, "we paid for a tall one of your kind." He seemed upset by my height, even though we stood eye to eye. However, my Mother had been 6'2", so I understood his disgruntlement.

I stood there, nervously wringing my hands, "I can work for less."

He pretended to consider my offer; Miryl had accepted the job for a handful of copper coins, so my offer was pretty much free labor. He would have been a fool to decline.

"Alright, you can start tomorrow, use Miryl's schedule," he accepted my offer without ever looking me in the eyes. Throughout my entire employment he never learned my name, I was Orc or he addressed me with a new task. This would be the start of braiding my hair in pigtails; the labor I preformed usually got interrupted several times, because I would have to constantly push my hair out of my face or off of what I was cleaning. The only hairstyle I knew at the time was simple braids, and I couldn't do a successful braid without watching it from start to finish.

"Momma," I visited her after being out all day. I made sure to whisper when I spoke, in case she was sleeping. But she didn't stir in bed when I called out, and I smiled because she deserved her rest. Since I was wearing socks on my feet I slid them over our smooth wood floors, because it would make less sound that walking.

I kissed her eyelids softly, like a butterfly landing on a clover. Then I turned around, and slid back out of the room. Even thought it was dark, and I had to be up early, I crept into our backyard to cry. Fear was my most prominent emotion, because I didn't know how to nurse my Mother, and every day she got a little bit sicker. I curled up on the ground, and begged the Goddess in the sky to heal her. Or at least to give me knowledge, a chance to learn medicine. I spent the night outside crying until my eyes grew tired and heavy.

I woke up to the sun warming my face; it wasn't uncommon for me to wake up this way, I always loved being outside, but this time it felt bitter. The normalcy of me waking up outside made me sick. It felt like I was learning to live without my Mother.

-------
"I could've done more," I said to myself as I slipped a baby blue pill into my mouth. I wasn't sure what I was taking exactly, but I knew I could get high enough to forget my Mother was dead, and that's what truly mattered.

"You likely did all you could..." the bartender must have been standing there while I cried, or just now walk in, because he heard me talking to myself. His sentiment made my heart ache. As I grew older without her I discovered things I could've done to save her. He started rubbing my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me before I could protest what he had said; it was the kindest gesture anyone has given me in a long time. I dug a couple of the baby blue pills out of the pocket of my sweater, and I placed them on the counter.

"Thank you," and with my thanks he silently took my offering of gratitude.