Whiskey At Dusk

Inspired by true events. Should you manage to uncover them, please do not harass anyone alluded to here.

By Snarky LisaPublished about 4 hours ago • 3 min read

Guess the whiskey was more important to you in the end, wasn’t it? It was more than the well-being of your friends; more vital than showing up to the places you promised you would and could come to; more critical of a matter than fulfilling your damn responsibilities and getting the press off your back.

That booze was certainly more important in your eyes than ever bothering to re-inspect my case file after months of you going without an answer.

I mean, I kind of get it. We were always strangers, barely interacting unless your goal was to dog on me for a very long time. You eventually realized that taking a second look might have been worth it — and I was happy when you said you would.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that putting too much faith in anything distant is bound to lead to doom. When that, over time, became your presence once again, I increasingly figured that your help would hardly be an option for me, anyways. And so, with all of my strength, I tried my best to let go of my hopes.

No matter what happened, though, I couldn’t help but hold onto that last bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d decide to turn around and try to help me once more like you said you would. Perhaps it was just memory issues that were keeping you from bothering to turn back which would eventually clear up.

After all, things had been rather hectic for you this past year. Friendships on trial; your work getting all riled up; heck, even your own state of mind. Now, a ton of people have been saying you’ve been in dangerous denial — and for the first time, you have to agree with them.

Even if your ability to memorize seemingly insignificant details wasn’t all clogged up, I couldn’t really blame you for not getting back to me. Whether you did or not, the fact of the matter was that your other priorities were clearly much bigger.

You could definitely afford to have more than a little apathy towards my situation, regardless of if the lack of it was my only option to get things resolved or not. It was a fact that I quietly forced myself to accept — as blatant as the clear sky being blue or that of power mostly shielding its wielders from the consequences of their actions. You were one of those holders, after all.

In the end, though, you definitely threw that potency away. Didn’t you? Instead of getting your story straight like you typically have and carefully accepting your losses upon your newer and more powerful rivals backing you into a corner, instead of even helping your own friends out who were also being eyed, you chose…to get drunk.

More specifically, you intoxicated yourself at a party with your friends who, by the end of the night, were either too inebriated or injured to be of much use while you were barely sobered up and had to take care of everything.

You know how there’s a saying that it’s always good to have at least one sober and capable party member at a social event? Clearly, it does not seem like you heeded that advice. Thanks to that, your reputation is in the gutters — leaving you practically unable to seriously help anyone you’ve wished to, let alone me. Who’d listen to you now?

At the end of the day, I shouldn’t be an awful lot offended by this. There’s nothing to suggest you did any of this to screw me over. Indeed, unlikely as it sounds, there seems like a higher chance of you having done this to jeopardize your friends. Besides, it’s not like I was ever a saint either.

But still — I can’t help but feel disappointed that you prioritized whiskey in the sunset.