xxDigging Ditches || Tigre One-shot

XX

When the interventionist sat down and told me 'They'll find you waking up in a ditch somewhere,' I didn't take it literally.

But now, as I prop myself on worn elbows, my dark gaze hovers parallel with a line of grass. Above the smoggy sky, I can see the pale white dot of the sun- normally it was blinding. But not today. Today, the factories ran at full capacity, their billowing smokestacks blotting out the universal enemy of hangovers everywhere.

"For fuck's sake."

My hand falls to my soaking wet T-shirt, gently peeling the sticky thing away. I'm drenched- but the cool water (As sickly as it may be) relieves the ache in my joins from my cramped sleeping position. A few inches of murky liquid rest around me, but my soaked clothes suggest the ditch ran recently. How I didn't drown is a mystery to me.

I haul myself from the trench, and make a face at the stench slapping my nose. I don't recognize this part of the district. Something tickles my toes, and attempting to balance myself, I look down. My left shoe is gone. I take stock- my shirt is ripped, my jeans are torn, and the button from my pants is completely missing. I must have had fun last night.

I haul my sorry self away from the irrigation ditch, and start walking towards the sun. That's... North, right? Or does the sun set in the west? I didn't really care. Someone somewhere would recognize me and pull me off the street, or I would find a bar.

Still, I struggled to retrieve the scraps of last night lingering about my head. My feet dragged as I wandered along the beaten path, following it for as long as I could. I hated being sober- but worst of all, I hated being hungover. It gave me time to think about souls I haven't seen, voices I haven't heard for a long time.

I lived alone now. For that I was thankful- no pesky missing persons notices, no sly looks whenever I reached for a glass bottle. I even hid a cultivation of Moonshine in my back yard, where it could grow stronger and stronger without fidgeting hands unscrewing the caps every few moons just to see how they progressed.

All I really wanted was to go home. I didn't want to walk anymore. Heh. I suppose the stupid beaten road could be used as one of my Interventionist's metaphors. 'The path you walk is like a tightrope- when are you gonna fall?'

I guess I've fallen pretty hard now.

The wind kicks up and I shiver, a frown gracing my features. Correction to the previous plan- undress, take a boiling hot bath, THEN go to sleep with a bottle. By now, I've slipped into a part of the district I recognize. Home isn't too far away.

But is it really home if no one even notices you're gone?