No White Flag
By Fewthistle

Author's Note: Written for the Victory Challenge (number three) at the Thursdays100 LiveJournal community.

Lennie walked slowly towards the bar. He sank down wearily on a tattered stool, the red vinyl cracked and taped over with a ragged strip of duct tape. Leaning forward heavily, he rested his forearms on the scarred wooden surface, grooves nearly worn into the ancient mahogany by the elbows of decades of tired working men, seeking the only solace they knew in the bottom of a glass.

He wanted a drink more than he had in years. He felt the craving in his chest, a tightness like climbers must feel as they neared the pinnacle of high peaks, that need for oxygen surpassing all others. He knew that need, except his wasn't for air, but liquid. With it came not clarity, but blessed oblivion.

With a grimace of pain and a shake of his head to the bartender, Lennie pushed himself away from that magical liquid that washed away every sin and walked to the door. Death might conquer him eventually, but this was one victory he would not relinquish.