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Tony was a drunk. Actually, he is a drunk. Every night without fail his face will show up at this nondescript bar in Klang. Every night. Good for him then that he does not drive or ride a bike. He just lives a few blocks away at a cheap flat, which he shared with two other, almost-as- low him housemates.
Together they somehow managed to pay the bills and rent every month, but not always on time. Tony worked at a factory near Port Klang, doing manual labor for not much cash. He did not smoke or sleep around with hookers. His vice is drink. Lots of it.
Actually Tony is not even his real name, though the bartender and fellow bar patrons know him by it. His real name is Roslan Chua Abdullah. He was the product of a mixed marriage, his father Chinese. So he had inherited the looks, and used it to his advantage to buy alcohol.
Tony started drinking at age 15, under the influence of his not-so-bright seniors in school. At first it was just shandy; but that led to his curiosity for beer, then spirits… and the rest, in Tony’s case, is a woozy history of late night outs and vomit on the stairs. His parents never knew that he drank; and when they had perished in a road accident years ago, Tony just used that as an excuse to drink some more.
“My parents died, I'm drowning out my sorrow”, he would say to anyone who seemed to have a look of concern the moment he has a sixth beer in a row.
It did not take long for him to be friends with the bottle; and soon enough he fell in love with hard liquor, in various flavors and forms.
“Lucky you know you don’t drive car aaa, if not you become like last time that TV commercial, “Jeff, Jeff, I killed my brader, hahaha”, his bar stool buddies would jest. Tony would smirk and just keep on downing the elixir of liver damage.
With all that drinking he also made frequent trips to the restroom. When he was conscious enough he would amuse himself while peeing, reading bathroom graffiti or having a laugh at crudely drawn pictures of cocks and naked ladies. Then he would just go back to drinking.
On any given night Tony probably drinks 4 beers, maybe a whisky, and then a few shots of vodka. But he did not have money to afford the more expensive drinks, and often settled for cheap knock-off liquors that were probably 70% alcohol.
Perhaps the best thing one could say about his drinking habit is that he was not the kind of drunk who’d go off talking to himself or harass people. He was a quiet drunk, a rare breed, who would just walk out of the bar in a clumsy and staggered walk when his money ran out. But often he’d ask for a small bottle of whatever liquor he could afford, for ‘good luck’.
That was Tony.
He supposed he would die of liver damage, and that was a thought that depressed him, along with the fact that he was 40 years old, had a crap job and had never known the pleasures of a woman. To drown his sorrows, he drank some more. It defeats the purpose, but to Tony, he thinks that since you’re already there, why not go all the way.
He was a simple man, really. Eat, Work, Sleep, Drink, and Drink some more. He does not bother or trouble anybody with his drinks anyway. When he sits at the bar, he sits alone. The bartender seems to ignore him most of the time, except when he’s asking for a drink. It’s always been that way. For the record, Tony does not like talking to people much anyway.
So it was annoying one night when as he sat at the bar, nursing his third bottle of beer, a man came and sat beside him, so close their shoulders touched. Tony turned his head with an expression that said ‘do you mind’ on his face. He found the man staring straight back at him.
“What do you want?” Tony said. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath. The man stared at him. What’s wrong with his eyes? Tony thought. They look like they’re wonky. I’ve only had three beers. Indeed the stranger’s eyes were unusual. The colors are all wrong, Tony thought. His whites are black and his blacks are… red? Must be the light in this place. Tony looked back at the stranger, who was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. He wore spectacles and had long, messy hair that fell on his face. Tony noticed the letters ‘EVI’ on the stalks of his spectacles, but could not make out the rest of the word as the man’s long hair obscured him.
“I said what do you want? Quit staring unless you wanna buy me a drink”, Tony said and went back to his beer.
“Oh but I am buying you a drink” the man said; his voice was husky and rasping. Tony turned to him. “Because you look like a man who can take a drink. And I am a generous man with too much money in my pocket tonight. And I don’t like this place; it’s too dodgy. So I wanna spend this cash before someone mugs me”
The stranger suddenly produced a stack of RM100 bills in each hand. As drunk as he was, Tony still had some awareness in him. Maybe everyone would be wary when a stranger with handfuls of money suddenly wanted to buy you drinks. Tony raised an eyebrow at the guy.
“I'm not a faggot if that’s what you’re looking for”, Tony said. He was well aware of rich gays who prowled bars looking for someone drunk or greedy enough.
The stranger laughed, a high, snarling laugh. And was that smoke coming out of his mouth? Maybe he had a cigarette. Except he didn’t.
“Of course you’re not”, he said. “I just want you to drink: here, have this money”
The man shoved the notes in Tony’s hand. Tony glanced at them and did a rough calculation. There had to, what, RM2000? RM3000? What in the world is with this guy? Tony stared at the man, who now stood a bit further from him. The man had a strange posture, his shoulders slumped and hunched forward, but he was tall. And Tony cannot help but notice his eyes. His red eyes.
“Who are you? What’s all this?” Tony said, a bit bewildered. Then suddenly he belched, and the stranger tilted his head sideways and laughed again. In a swift step, the stranger was next to him again and put an arm around his shoulders.
“I am just someone who knows what you want; now drink, be merry; and know this, from now on, you’ll never run out of money again”, the man said, whispering. Tony noticed the man radiated a heat; in fact he could feel his arm around his shoulder was sort of giving of a heat, like he had a high fever. Just as Tony wanted to push the arm away, the stranger pulled it back.
“Just drink. A word of warning though; too much alcohol will kill you”, the man said. Tony stared at him, then scoffs. Well, rezeki jangan di tolak, right? He raises his hand and calls for the bartender. The bartender comes to his seat and asks if he wants another cold one.
“Yeah. Actually pour me a shot of Jack Daniels, this guy here is buying apparently”
The bartender began pours Tony a drink. “What guy?”
“That guy… here…” but then Tony notices the man had gone. But he still had that load of money in his hands. Baffled, he turns back to the bartender and hands him the money for the drink. “Never mind”.
He ended up spending about RM1000 in drinks that night; the most he’s ever spent on. He was so drunk he passed out on the street outside the bar and did not make it home. He woke up a few hours later when he upchucked about a bucket of vomit on the sidewalk. But a magical thing happened when he finally got home: he had money. Lots of it. He simply opened his closet and money came tumbling out. Tony was overjoyed. What in the world happened last night? He thought. But screw it, I'm rich!
Now, maybe a normal person would have turned the money to the police because of it’s unexplained origin, or if he was greedy enough he would splurge on himself, and maybe get another lifestyle, one with fast cars and luxury condos. But Tony was not that kind of man. He had long ago forsaken the thought of luxury. So he decided to spend that money the Tony way: with drinks.
From that day forward, Tony spent almost all the time at the bar. Even the bartender was starting to feel odd, but because Tony was paying with real money, he kept quiet. Tony drank all manners of wonderful intoxicating drinks. He would drink until he vomited, then he would get sleep, and get over the hangovers and head back to the bar. He did not show up to work for a week, and when he did show up, he stank of alcohol and was drunk. Unsurprisingly he was fired.
Tony did not care though. Every morning he would wake up to see that his money was still there by the thousands. Holy shit that weirdo at the bar must have sent me all this cash, he thought. But he never thought where that money came from, and he somehow managed to keep it secret from his housemates.
Tony went on a month long drinking binge. When he was sober he thought to himself that he was on a suicide run, and that one day someone will find his bloated body in a street or at home and a post-mortem would determine his cause of death alcohol poisoning. But he did not care. He stopped caring a long time ago. All he wanted to do was drink, and drink he did. He drank like there was no tomorrow.
One night he was so drunk he vomited on the bar, much to the disgust and anger of the bartender and manager. They threw him out, and for the first time Tony made his voice heard. He shouted curses at the bar and bar patrons, and walked drunkenly along the street, his feet unsteady, his body swaying. He vomited again. He checked his pockets and found another RM200 in there.
“I'm getting a drink”, he said out loud, to no one in particular. He found a 24-hour convenience store and bought 5 bottles of cold vodka and a six-pack of beer. The cashier looked frightened of him. The bill came to RM80, but Tony just dumped all RM200 at the cashier and told him to ‘keep the change’. He collected his drinks and began walking down the street again, drinking his bounty one by one.
He turned into an alley, which he often used as a shortcut to get back to his flat. The alley was a narrow one-way street that ran through the middle of the shop lots. He began to sing loudly in the darkness, his words slurred and coarse. Suddenly he vomited again, spraying a stream of light, amber colored liquid through his mouth and nose. It stank of alcohol, sickly sweet. Tony wiped his mouth and nose with his shirt, but then he vomited again.
Argh, all those drinks wasted, he thought. He leaned on a wall, feeling queasy. Suddenly he felt liquid seeping out of his nose, and then his ears. And then all at once, the liquid began to leak from his eyes and ass and penis. He vomited again, spewing out more amber liquid. This time the vomit was accompanied by a huge pain in his stomach, and the vomit burned his throat coming out, a mixture of alcohol and stomach acid and bile.
What’s going on? What’s this? Tony thought as he crashed to the tarmac. His eyes stung and his nose was runny, and he felt like he had the worst case of diarrhea. Fluid flowed in a steady stream from his penis, and he felt it run out of his asshole and other body orifices.
“Gelp”, he said, but the liquid that poured out of his mouth choked his voice. He crawled on the street. “Glrrulp”, he said.
His clothes were now drenched with whatever liquid it was that was literally pouring out of his body. He felt panicked all of a sudden. He crashed his body to the ground, writhing because the fluid not just poured out, but it burned his insides. He tried to scream for help and attention but could not; he was choking on the burning liquid, which, to his horror, he now realized tasted and smelled exactly like very strong vodka. Every time he tried to speak his words were garbled and his mouth would bubble. Suddenly he saw a pair of feet, clad in white shoes, walking towards him.
Finally, help!
The feet stopped near his head, and Tony looked up to see the face of the man he had met at the bar sometime ago. He was still dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, and his eyes were still strangely colored: blacks instead of whites, and the irises a deep red that seemed to glow. This time Tony felt a bolt of fear going through his spine.
The stranger smiled as he looked down upon Tony, revealing pointed teeth. He squatted down to get closer.
“How’s your drink?” he said and threw his head back in laughter. Tony had stopped writhing; he was fatigued, yet still the liquid – no, vodka – poured out of every orifice on his body. He was soaked, and laid in a puddle of the stuff. The stranger stopped laughing. Tony saw that his body was again giving off that heat, and this time he could actually see smoke!
Oh God save me, Tony thought.
“Oh now you want salvation from God? Too late. Heheh. Heheh”.
Tony’s eyes widened in fear. Had the man read his thoughts? Who was this person?
“I am Eddtheone”, the man said, answering the frightened Tony. “I told you all that alcohol would kill you. Heheh. Heheh. But you know the best thing about alcohol Tony?”
The man, if he was one, lifted a hand, and to Tony’s horror the hand produced a red fire. The man played with his fingers, and the flames danced and flickered. Tony tried to scream.
“Graalllgggg!!” was all that Tony could produce. The vodka was still seeping and pouring out of his body. The strange man, that ‘Eddtheone’, laughed again.
“The best thing about alcohol is that it burns" he said and touched his flaming hand to Tony’s body. Tony screamed, finally producing a voice as the alcohol around, on and inside him caught fire. He rolled and writhed in agony as the flames scorched his skin; he could feel the fire inside him, burning up all the alcohol. He still managed to see the strange man, that Eddtheone standing over him, but then the stranger seemed to melt into the tarmac, as if he was sinking into quicksand. Tony’s wide, frightened eyes saw him one last moment just before his head disappeared into the ground, the red eyes glowing with fire and a cruel malignant smile carved on his lips. As it turns out, that was the last thing Tony ever saw.
The next morning, a shopkeeper taking out the trash found Tony’s charred body, which was missing a hand. When the police and crime scene investigators came, they found the hand about 50 meters from the spot Tony died; it too was charred black. Someone had used it as a macabre charcoal pencil to write the words ‘everything burns’ on the wall.
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Tony was a drunk. Actually, he is a drunk. Every night without fail his face will show up at this nondescript bar in Klang. Every night. Good for him then that he does not drive or ride a bike. He just lives a few blocks away at a cheap flat, which he shared with two other, almost-as- low him housemates.
Together they somehow managed to pay the bills and rent every month, but not always on time. Tony worked at a factory near Port Klang, doing manual labor for not much cash. He did not smoke or sleep around with hookers. His vice is drink. Lots of it.
Actually Tony is not even his real name, though the bartender and fellow bar patrons know him by it. His real name is Roslan Chua Abdullah. He was the product of a mixed marriage, his father Chinese. So he had inherited the looks, and used it to his advantage to buy alcohol.
Tony started drinking at age 15, under the influence of his not-so-bright seniors in school. At first it was just shandy; but that led to his curiosity for beer, then spirits… and the rest, in Tony’s case, is a woozy history of late night outs and vomit on the stairs. His parents never knew that he drank; and when they had perished in a road accident years ago, Tony just used that as an excuse to drink some more.
“My parents died, I'm drowning out my sorrow”, he would say to anyone who seemed to have a look of concern the moment he has a sixth beer in a row.
It did not take long for him to be friends with the bottle; and soon enough he fell in love with hard liquor, in various flavors and forms.
“Lucky you know you don’t drive car aaa, if not you become like last time that TV commercial, “Jeff, Jeff, I killed my brader, hahaha”, his bar stool buddies would jest. Tony would smirk and just keep on downing the elixir of liver damage.
With all that drinking he also made frequent trips to the restroom. When he was conscious enough he would amuse himself while peeing, reading bathroom graffiti or having a laugh at crudely drawn pictures of cocks and naked ladies. Then he would just go back to drinking.
On any given night Tony probably drinks 4 beers, maybe a whisky, and then a few shots of vodka. But he did not have money to afford the more expensive drinks, and often settled for cheap knock-off liquors that were probably 70% alcohol.
Perhaps the best thing one could say about his drinking habit is that he was not the kind of drunk who’d go off talking to himself or harass people. He was a quiet drunk, a rare breed, who would just walk out of the bar in a clumsy and staggered walk when his money ran out. But often he’d ask for a small bottle of whatever liquor he could afford, for ‘good luck’.
That was Tony.
He supposed he would die of liver damage, and that was a thought that depressed him, along with the fact that he was 40 years old, had a crap job and had never known the pleasures of a woman. To drown his sorrows, he drank some more. It defeats the purpose, but to Tony, he thinks that since you’re already there, why not go all the way.
He was a simple man, really. Eat, Work, Sleep, Drink, and Drink some more. He does not bother or trouble anybody with his drinks anyway. When he sits at the bar, he sits alone. The bartender seems to ignore him most of the time, except when he’s asking for a drink. It’s always been that way. For the record, Tony does not like talking to people much anyway.
So it was annoying one night when as he sat at the bar, nursing his third bottle of beer, a man came and sat beside him, so close their shoulders touched. Tony turned his head with an expression that said ‘do you mind’ on his face. He found the man staring straight back at him.
“What do you want?” Tony said. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath. The man stared at him. What’s wrong with his eyes? Tony thought. They look like they’re wonky. I’ve only had three beers. Indeed the stranger’s eyes were unusual. The colors are all wrong, Tony thought. His whites are black and his blacks are… red? Must be the light in this place. Tony looked back at the stranger, who was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. He wore spectacles and had long, messy hair that fell on his face. Tony noticed the letters ‘EVI’ on the stalks of his spectacles, but could not make out the rest of the word as the man’s long hair obscured him.
“I said what do you want? Quit staring unless you wanna buy me a drink”, Tony said and went back to his beer.
“Oh but I am buying you a drink” the man said; his voice was husky and rasping. Tony turned to him. “Because you look like a man who can take a drink. And I am a generous man with too much money in my pocket tonight. And I don’t like this place; it’s too dodgy. So I wanna spend this cash before someone mugs me”
The stranger suddenly produced a stack of RM100 bills in each hand. As drunk as he was, Tony still had some awareness in him. Maybe everyone would be wary when a stranger with handfuls of money suddenly wanted to buy you drinks. Tony raised an eyebrow at the guy.
“I'm not a faggot if that’s what you’re looking for”, Tony said. He was well aware of rich gays who prowled bars looking for someone drunk or greedy enough.
The stranger laughed, a high, snarling laugh. And was that smoke coming out of his mouth? Maybe he had a cigarette. Except he didn’t.
“Of course you’re not”, he said. “I just want you to drink: here, have this money”
The man shoved the notes in Tony’s hand. Tony glanced at them and did a rough calculation. There had to, what, RM2000? RM3000? What in the world is with this guy? Tony stared at the man, who now stood a bit further from him. The man had a strange posture, his shoulders slumped and hunched forward, but he was tall. And Tony cannot help but notice his eyes. His red eyes.
“Who are you? What’s all this?” Tony said, a bit bewildered. Then suddenly he belched, and the stranger tilted his head sideways and laughed again. In a swift step, the stranger was next to him again and put an arm around his shoulders.
“I am just someone who knows what you want; now drink, be merry; and know this, from now on, you’ll never run out of money again”, the man said, whispering. Tony noticed the man radiated a heat; in fact he could feel his arm around his shoulder was sort of giving of a heat, like he had a high fever. Just as Tony wanted to push the arm away, the stranger pulled it back.
“Just drink. A word of warning though; too much alcohol will kill you”, the man said. Tony stared at him, then scoffs. Well, rezeki jangan di tolak, right? He raises his hand and calls for the bartender. The bartender comes to his seat and asks if he wants another cold one.
“Yeah. Actually pour me a shot of Jack Daniels, this guy here is buying apparently”
The bartender began pours Tony a drink. “What guy?”
“That guy… here…” but then Tony notices the man had gone. But he still had that load of money in his hands. Baffled, he turns back to the bartender and hands him the money for the drink. “Never mind”.
He ended up spending about RM1000 in drinks that night; the most he’s ever spent on. He was so drunk he passed out on the street outside the bar and did not make it home. He woke up a few hours later when he upchucked about a bucket of vomit on the sidewalk. But a magical thing happened when he finally got home: he had money. Lots of it. He simply opened his closet and money came tumbling out. Tony was overjoyed. What in the world happened last night? He thought. But screw it, I'm rich!
Now, maybe a normal person would have turned the money to the police because of it’s unexplained origin, or if he was greedy enough he would splurge on himself, and maybe get another lifestyle, one with fast cars and luxury condos. But Tony was not that kind of man. He had long ago forsaken the thought of luxury. So he decided to spend that money the Tony way: with drinks.
From that day forward, Tony spent almost all the time at the bar. Even the bartender was starting to feel odd, but because Tony was paying with real money, he kept quiet. Tony drank all manners of wonderful intoxicating drinks. He would drink until he vomited, then he would get sleep, and get over the hangovers and head back to the bar. He did not show up to work for a week, and when he did show up, he stank of alcohol and was drunk. Unsurprisingly he was fired.
Tony did not care though. Every morning he would wake up to see that his money was still there by the thousands. Holy shit that weirdo at the bar must have sent me all this cash, he thought. But he never thought where that money came from, and he somehow managed to keep it secret from his housemates.
Tony went on a month long drinking binge. When he was sober he thought to himself that he was on a suicide run, and that one day someone will find his bloated body in a street or at home and a post-mortem would determine his cause of death alcohol poisoning. But he did not care. He stopped caring a long time ago. All he wanted to do was drink, and drink he did. He drank like there was no tomorrow.
One night he was so drunk he vomited on the bar, much to the disgust and anger of the bartender and manager. They threw him out, and for the first time Tony made his voice heard. He shouted curses at the bar and bar patrons, and walked drunkenly along the street, his feet unsteady, his body swaying. He vomited again. He checked his pockets and found another RM200 in there.
“I'm getting a drink”, he said out loud, to no one in particular. He found a 24-hour convenience store and bought 5 bottles of cold vodka and a six-pack of beer. The cashier looked frightened of him. The bill came to RM80, but Tony just dumped all RM200 at the cashier and told him to ‘keep the change’. He collected his drinks and began walking down the street again, drinking his bounty one by one.
He turned into an alley, which he often used as a shortcut to get back to his flat. The alley was a narrow one-way street that ran through the middle of the shop lots. He began to sing loudly in the darkness, his words slurred and coarse. Suddenly he vomited again, spraying a stream of light, amber colored liquid through his mouth and nose. It stank of alcohol, sickly sweet. Tony wiped his mouth and nose with his shirt, but then he vomited again.
Argh, all those drinks wasted, he thought. He leaned on a wall, feeling queasy. Suddenly he felt liquid seeping out of his nose, and then his ears. And then all at once, the liquid began to leak from his eyes and ass and penis. He vomited again, spewing out more amber liquid. This time the vomit was accompanied by a huge pain in his stomach, and the vomit burned his throat coming out, a mixture of alcohol and stomach acid and bile.
What’s going on? What’s this? Tony thought as he crashed to the tarmac. His eyes stung and his nose was runny, and he felt like he had the worst case of diarrhea. Fluid flowed in a steady stream from his penis, and he felt it run out of his asshole and other body orifices.
“Gelp”, he said, but the liquid that poured out of his mouth choked his voice. He crawled on the street. “Glrrulp”, he said.
His clothes were now drenched with whatever liquid it was that was literally pouring out of his body. He felt panicked all of a sudden. He crashed his body to the ground, writhing because the fluid not just poured out, but it burned his insides. He tried to scream for help and attention but could not; he was choking on the burning liquid, which, to his horror, he now realized tasted and smelled exactly like very strong vodka. Every time he tried to speak his words were garbled and his mouth would bubble. Suddenly he saw a pair of feet, clad in white shoes, walking towards him.
Finally, help!
The feet stopped near his head, and Tony looked up to see the face of the man he had met at the bar sometime ago. He was still dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, and his eyes were still strangely colored: blacks instead of whites, and the irises a deep red that seemed to glow. This time Tony felt a bolt of fear going through his spine.
The stranger smiled as he looked down upon Tony, revealing pointed teeth. He squatted down to get closer.
“How’s your drink?” he said and threw his head back in laughter. Tony had stopped writhing; he was fatigued, yet still the liquid – no, vodka – poured out of every orifice on his body. He was soaked, and laid in a puddle of the stuff. The stranger stopped laughing. Tony saw that his body was again giving off that heat, and this time he could actually see smoke!
Oh God save me, Tony thought.
“Oh now you want salvation from God? Too late. Heheh. Heheh”.
Tony’s eyes widened in fear. Had the man read his thoughts? Who was this person?
“I am Eddtheone”, the man said, answering the frightened Tony. “I told you all that alcohol would kill you. Heheh. Heheh. But you know the best thing about alcohol Tony?”
The man, if he was one, lifted a hand, and to Tony’s horror the hand produced a red fire. The man played with his fingers, and the flames danced and flickered. Tony tried to scream.
“Graalllgggg!!” was all that Tony could produce. The vodka was still seeping and pouring out of his body. The strange man, that ‘Eddtheone’, laughed again.
“The best thing about alcohol is that it burns" he said and touched his flaming hand to Tony’s body. Tony screamed, finally producing a voice as the alcohol around, on and inside him caught fire. He rolled and writhed in agony as the flames scorched his skin; he could feel the fire inside him, burning up all the alcohol. He still managed to see the strange man, that Eddtheone standing over him, but then the stranger seemed to melt into the tarmac, as if he was sinking into quicksand. Tony’s wide, frightened eyes saw him one last moment just before his head disappeared into the ground, the red eyes glowing with fire and a cruel malignant smile carved on his lips. As it turns out, that was the last thing Tony ever saw.
The next morning, a shopkeeper taking out the trash found Tony’s charred body, which was missing a hand. When the police and crime scene investigators came, they found the hand about 50 meters from the spot Tony died; it too was charred black. Someone had used it as a macabre charcoal pencil to write the words ‘everything burns’ on the wall.
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