It had been a long week.

I stepped out of the small central clinic. Though I was tired I wasn't terribly into the idea of heading home, knowing what that meant for me. Before the door swung closed behind me I turned my head to see past my shoulder, but not a one had given me so much as a passing glance. I guess I was used to that.

It was the week I'd always tried to pick up extra shifts, working until I just couldn't anymore. My feet hurt like hell and my hands were stiff from the long, exhausting hours, barely able to flex or move in the dry February air. It was anything I could do to get my mind off the day, but with it so dead this evening I and several others were told to head home. Though I begged to stay they wouldn't humor it.

With a sigh I began my stroll down the block of yet another town I'd moved to. By now I'd lost count of how many times I'd moved, how many towns I'd been in. We were moved around like livestock to whatever clinic needed us, whenever they needed us, and while I understood the point it didn't make coping any easier. The breeze was biting and dry, the chill nipping at my bare hands already too stiff to move. I shoved them in my pockets as I continued my walk until I came upon a familiar kind of building. Putting everything I could into my sore hand I opened the door and walked inside.

This time of night was pretty lackluster here all the same, only myself and the cashier alive in the vicinity. I walked down a narrow aisle and picked something I recognized, bringing it up to the counter with me.

"Will that be all?" the cashier asked, monotone.

"Yes," was all I said, handing her a small sum of money from my wallet.

Exact change, nothing to take back. With the item in hand I headed back out and put it in my coat pocket. A small town like this had few people out and about this time of night, forcing me to be alone with my thoughts. Any noise, any tiny shuffle in the alleys or crackling of leaves was a welcome reprieve from my own head as I slowly advanced onto my small apartment.

Up the stairs I went, grabbing the door and slowly walking in carrying my defeat on my shoulders. It was a burden heavier than it really should ever be.

I turned on the light, the tiny dim room lighting up the nothing I had. There was a small mattress on the floor, some books in a pile, and a small desk the room came with. A dismal place, but with how much I worked I wasn't here often enough, physically or mentally, for it to bother me as much as it did today. I took the item out of my pocket -- a bottle of whiskey -- and set it on the desk before turning around and closing the door. As I turned away my eyes caught an unfortunate glimpse of the calendar I kept on the back.

February fourteenth.

Valentine's Day.

...And my birthday.

In silence I stood and turned back to the bottle, pausing for a moment to try to clear my head.

I hated this day.

The clock struck eight. I guess now was as good a time as any.

A small bottle on the kitchen counter caught my attention, my grabbing it and popping it open. With a gentle shake all the small white tablets tumbled out and into my palm. I replaced the cap and set it back on the counter before acquiring the small bottle of whiskey. A harsh twist of the top and the bottle opened, the sharp alcohol burn assaulting my sinuses. I couldn't stand this stuff, but I didn't drink it for the aroma.

I opened my palm and looked at the pile of white pills in my hand, then to the bottle of liquor. The pile of pills, the bottle of liquor. Time around me seemed to screech to a halt, my wall clock's ticking no longer audible as I crept back into my head.

My ears fell back and I put the pills back down on the desk in a messy pile, taking only one. I popped it in my mouth and washed it down with the foul, wood-tasting liquid until the bottle was half empty. It wouldn't be long before this kicked in. I took a minute to deal with my bathroom business before stepping out and crawling onto my tiny, awful mattress, bunching up the comforter in front of me and holding it close. My vision began to blur and my reflexes dulled while saline tears welled in my eyes, falling onto the comforter before me. It was all I could do as I rubbed my snout against the blanket, all I could do to pretend I wasn't alone.

Such an ironic day for someone like me.

"...Happy thirtieth birthday, Daniel," I slurred to myself.

I curled my large, useless body around the blankets and rested my snout atop the soft mass, my eyes blinking their final times for the evening as the alcohol and medication finally lulled me to sleep.

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