Aleph Banton
You know, he hadn't thought on the subject much; why of all buildings, did the bars remain mostly unscathed in these wastelands? It was possibly because when his species got drunk, they had much more potential to destroy than a simple homosapien, and thusly a bar was needed to be reinforced. While the paint on the outside of the bar was charred to shit, the inside of the building was almost perfect, aside from the aforementioned charring also being on the walls right next to any window.
Yes, the bars were still there. For him, that was perfect.
Aleph was sitting on a stool in the middle of a deserted bar. Sure, the booze was a bit old, but it still worked. It still helped him get drunk, intoxicated. Currently, he was still able to stand and talk, but at his rate, this wouldn't be for long. He had only started ten minutes ago, but two bottles were downed and there was more lined up for him to take, drink and move on as quickly as he wished. Nobody was going to cut him off, nobody could ask him to pay. It was free pain-nullification. Unfortunately all it did was null the pain...
It didn't make it go away.
Whether he realized this or not didn't matter, for he did this anyways, without much of a second thought. He wore a grizzled, dark, lonely face that was only filled with down emotions and what used to be a five o'clock shadow, now transformed into a beard, sorta. His eyes were, for the most part, cast down towards the wooden bar that stood before him with dust covering the surface of it, as well as his beers. On occasion, he'd give a small sigh before taking another drink. Truly, he was a sad sight. He even looked just like any person back before all this happened, with all his clothing on him at the moment being the ripped, dirty tunic and unwashed clothe-pants. He had also gotten a pair of old shoes to replace his boots, since he didn't ever really wear his armor. He was never sober enough to maneuver in it, so it was only useful to bring back other depressing thoughts that hadn't even sent him into this depression.
They say that if you have a bad pain in one part of your body, to hurt yourself somewhere else so you don't pay attention to that. It would have seemed that he tried to do that with his emotions, but it backfired horribly, sending him into a worse state. Not only did he lose his purpose, but he was constantly reminded that he was down a family due to his own foolishness and selfishness. What a poor man he was, wasn't he?
He took the final swig of his beer, finishing it off and held the bottle in his hand.
It's his fault that his life is like this, right? Not only uselessly living in this shithole of a world, but personally making it worse for himself and costing others their life? Is that what he did?
"No!" he yelled at himself, angrily, weakly. "I...! FUCK!" he tossed the empty bottle as hard as he could at the old wall of the bar, causing it to shatter into a million pieces, falling to the dirty ground below. He wouldn't have to clean it up. His hands moved to his head, his elbows resting on the bar and holding his noggin up from falling to the desk, like he so wanted it to do. "I...." he attempted to speak to himself, but failed to mutter more than that one word. Defeated by himself, he grabbed another beer and opened it.
Because now, that is all he can do