i shot a man just to watch him die::The deck retained the warmth of the day, but the wind blowing across the ship was cool i shot a man just to watch him die

i shot a man just to watch him die::The deck retained the warmth of the day, but the wind blowing across the ship was cool.
Milo walked to the railing and leaned over, feeling a little ill as he did so.
He remembered a mix of baileys and rum.
Was that supposed to be mixed?
Maybe for irish coffee.
Did you use that in coffee?
He stumbled backwards a bit, then turned to find somewhere to sit.
Failing to find that, he sat on the deck.
It was a good night, milo thought with a smile.
There had been a lot worse nights.
There was the taste of alcohol mixed with vomit in his mouth.
He felt a little better after his last stint in the bathroom.
He was such a lightweight.
Years of drinking and still, a few shots and he was on the floor.
He supposed that was normal when you drank 151.
Normal was loving alcohol.
He was twentythree, maybe it was time to grow out of it.
He could have a few years of debauchery.
It was too much to think about.
He stretched up, stared at the stars.
It was so clear.
Everything was right there for him to see.
He could be an astronaut!
Could you drink in space?
Why did he drink?
Financially, things were easy.
The best one could imagine.
Were you allowed to be upset over that?
His stepmother was nice.
When kings remarried in movies, the new wife never turned out to be nice.
Second brides should be better.
Because the first spouse was terrible?
Art never quite imitated life.
Was that the saying?
Milo tried to sit up, swiveling onto his elbows.
A wave of sickness went over him and he collapsed again.
He had what he needed.
A few people filtered out onto the deck, laughing.
They sounded far away, like extras in a movie.
He could hear them, see them, but they seemed to be in a different world.
It was strange to think about.
They would remember this there way, and he would remember it his.
It was strange, and hurt his head more than a little bit.
Back to the stars.
Or the little dipper.
He felt small, suddenly.
If there were aliens looking down, would they see him?
People would notice in this world.
There would be a funeral and lamentations for the lost prince.
There would be magazine covers and his family would cry.
Maybe other people would cry, too.
Then everyone would miss him.
But not the people far away.
It was time to go to his room.
Milo inhaled, preparing for the strain.
First, he propped himself up on elbows.
Pushed a hand out, now he was sitting up fully.
Now the tough bit.
How did you stand?
He braced himself against one of the deck chairs, and pulled himself up to standing.
He could feel the drinks sloshing about, vomit rising again.
He paused for a moment, standing.
What to do now?
Fight his way back to his room?
Or fall asleep here on the deck?
Something about deck chairs on the titanic.
Deck chairs on the titanic.
He sat down again and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake him.