Alive If Not Exactly Well

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Another day had gone past. Another day I slowly died from the inside. Maybe I was already dead and now I'm just rotting

There was little to no light entering from the window. The apartment remained a stubborn dark no matter what but Ethan just accepted it and didn't even try to fix the light switch. He let it happen like he just lets everything else in his life happen. He can't be bothered with anything anymore so when he gets home he either drinks or sleeps. Nothing more and nothing less.

Or at least he tried to. A rock crashed through the window, shattering the glass onto the wooden floor and some onto his face that lay unconscious on the broken sofa. With a loud grumble of swears, he pulled himself up with a creak and slumbered to the windowsill waving his handgun angrily.

"Try that again you fuckers!" It was the fifth time this week. Even with the infected bashing at the gates, three orphans demand on playing outside even when the curfew is up. They're kids so the worst the army that patrols this area can do is tell them off when they can bother, most of the time they don't even bat an eye at them anymore. He grabbed the football that had rolled to the other side of his apartment and grabbed the closest knife he could. After dragging himself back to the windowsill, he punctured it before throwing it back to them. He heard them laugh at it but they quickly scattered away when he swore to them with his gun in hand. He would never do that though, he was a drunk but not a child murder. Anyway even if he did murder them, nobody would be able to tell. That's why this town's so dangerous even with the half-assed army running around, everyone can do anything without evidence. Ethan is thankful though, that's how his smuggling business is so good. He can have secret tunnels going in and out of the town border without even raising suspicion. Granted, it's very illegal to smuggle drugs and guns to gangs but what even is the definition of right or wrong anymore when dead corpses feast upon the living. In Ethan's mind, he tells himself he's not doing anything bad and in all honesty, he isn't.

He's still at the broken window. Breathing through his mouth and leaning his right hand against the wall. He noticed how his white tank top has a bunch of different stains but just like everything else he doesn't care about it. At this point, he just can't. Not when everything is falling to shit around him. He merely scratches at his beard and sighs, hardly able to breathe. Ethan's problem isn't that he can't be bothered to do anything, Ethan's problem is that he's too stuck in the past to realise. He hasn't realized the room is always dark, he hasn't realized his sofa is broken and he hasn't realized that the window is broken. Worst of all he hasn't realized that cut his hand on the jagged window and it's now adding unwanted new stains to his tank top. Yet he just does what he always does when he finds himself even slightly caring. He either drinks to forget it or pops pills until he's unconscious. Yoon-so, his next-door neighbour and usual partner isn't there to nag at him and remind him of what his family would think of him in this state so he goes for it. He does, however, know that it's morally wrong and that it's killing him quicker than his cholesterol. It's not just the substances that are killing him, it's the guilt too. The guilt of his past and the newly added guilt of the present. He feel's terrible about what he does but it's the only thing he's good for. That and showing people that he's a balding, fat, pathetic old man who sits in self-pity all day.- And he's not wrong

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