All Stories, Horror

I Called my Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan by Ashlie Allen

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Maki looks angry when he drinks but I know he’s wearing a mask. The mask sprouts from his heart, across his entire face. Sometimes it spreads to his limbs and makes him destroy things. One night he smacked his son when he asked, “why are you crying so loud daddy?”

I was there. The little boy crashed against my torso until my voice involuntarily rose out of me. Maybe I was shocked he wanted my consolation. I was just a friend of Maki, not blood. Maybe I was charmed by the sorrow I saw in Maki’s eyes as he watched me pet his son’s skull.

He says there’s no greater feeling in the world than a complete buzz. “It’s not just that relaxed, sleepy feeling normal people enjoy. It’s the careless, almost destructive feeling you get when you’re finally free from all miseries for a moment. You no longer feel responsible for any bad behavior. Suddenly everything you’ve ever felt goes to space; the universe cradles your conscious and laughs at all your torment.” He told me if he could experience that state forever, he’d never worry anyone again.

When he runs out of money for wine, he begs friends and family. When they say no, he tears through couches, pant pockets and dressers for buried change. One evening when there was no hope left in him, he sat in the middle of the room and surrounded himself with several empty wine bottles. Maybe he thought they had magic.

Growing up, Maki was called devil eyes. He had this unpredictable, malicious look about him even when he smiled. I noticed his sensitivity more though. His pupils were always swollen as if he was about to weep. I called him sad Satan. He laughed about it but I knew he was desperate to talk about the depression that made him appear this way.

Tonight his son ran to me before I reached their front door. “What does it mean?” He frantically asked while tugging at my arm. We walked inside their house, where Maki’s drunken body lay sprawled across the floor, Cabernet spilling around him. “Is he sleeping?” The boy questioned.

“Maybe.” I knelt beside Maki’s body to examine it. Shortly after, I lead his son out of the room. I told him I would take care of his father, sleep now. Once back in the living room, I saw those devilish eyes looking directly at me. They were sparkling in the dark room.

“Why did you do it?” I begged. “Your child is too young to experience the horror of grief!”

“I know. That’s why I left him tonight. I was a walking dead man. It just wasn’t official until now.” We both stared at the wound in his abdomen.

“You had a lot of courage to cut yourself there.” I said.

“I figured my liver needed to bleed out first. It needed the most relief.” That was the first time he confessed to being an addict. It was also the first time I talked to a ghost.

Ashlie Allen

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Published by literallystories2014

12 thoughts on “I Called my Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan by Ashlie Allen”

  3. Hi Ashlie,

    Your last seven lines were excellent.
    This is stark and sad. But I think we have come to expect a bit of blackness from your pen!
    There is not a thing wrong with that!!

    Happy that you know that we know what is coming next from you!!
    Hugh

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  4. Hi Ashlie,
    It’s a pleasure to see your work being showcased once again.
    I’ve been missing the darkness!
    All the very best.
    Hugh

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  6. Ashlie
    Milton, Goethe, and Dante give Satan the best lines, write him the best scenes. “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” Perhaps The Stones have Satan’s situation better portrayed in their “Sympathy for The Devil” — he is merely us.
    Enter Sad Satan’s mask of sorrows into the discussion. A welcomed addition. Nice Job! — Gerry

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      1. Ashlie
        This story happily/horrifyingly reminds the reader that we inhabit a world of walking dead folks who have dehumanized themselves (most without knowing it at all), via alcohol, and mostly other drugs, like Consumerism, Apathy, Selfishness, Nihilism, Politics, and other Ego-Driven Behaviors. At least your character is able to reach a final realization of self that RE-humanizes, instead of de-humanizes, him, and rid the world of himself in ancient Roman style, by falling upon his own sword. It turns out that the actual end or “terminal point” of death, is NOT the scariest thing of all. Dying beforehand, and continuing to live….THAT is the real terror, and it comes out at many of us FULL FORCE during the Holiday Season when we have to deal with all of it in condensed form…
        Maki is a very vividly drawn character, and your story packs a complete punch in a small space! Congrads and bravo on a great tale. Happy Hannukah! And Merry Christmas Season…
        Dale

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