A nightly drink

By: Eoin O’Rourke

Writing Prompt: No

Date: 3rd Sep 2021

-For the first time in a good while, I’m alone. I sit alone in my home with nothing around me. My brother is tending to Liz, I sit on this chair looking out to Manhattan, and for the first time in a long time, I can collect my thoughts on matters. My mind has been overcome with so much. Being a child an IRA member is difficult to live as an adult. Everywhere around me was violent. Death and destruction was around every corner and both of my parents were responsible for quite a few murders. However what they were fighting for was freedom for Ireland. They were fighting those who didn’t believe Ireland needed saving. They were thought of as terrorists, enemies of the country.-

“They took our freedom in blood, we will pay for it in theirs.”

-My mother believed without a doubt that she would see the freedom of her homeland, or die trying. We were always moving from place to place. Friends who would be with us a day before, would be found dead on the street the next day. We even carried a mortar with us. But it was nothing more than a memory, because my mother lost everything at this point. The fact she had me, with my father who wasn’t even Irish, disillusioned her priorities. My father didn’t come to Ireland to fight, he came to fuck, get drunk, and go home. My mother had thought that raising me in the middle of a warzone with my dad would change his perception, but all it did was accelerate him to escape. And when my mother tried to return to the IRA, they refused her… Because they believed that she would be better off raising me, rather than see another motherless child. A position she couldn’t accept, for my father already decided to leave both of us. The IRA was her only escape, her only sense of freedom. In the end, freedom for her was a distant memory, I was her burden.-

“I’ll need a drink… To handle all of this.”

-I poured a half glass of scotch. Just to keep the memories coming. I could do nothing but remember. How the police officers found me, now that I look back on it, they knew about my mom. They knew what she did and who she was. I was looked at as a child of the IRA. Some bloke had his hand on his pistol the entire time he was looking at me, I knew he was English. But when they took me to the orphanage they tried asking me questions, questions that I can’t remember… It’s difficult to remember all of it, but they were a catholic orphanage, and due to my mother’s actions, it kept me away from the majority of the kids.-

“Now it all makes sense. I’m a sinner. The work of one man resulted in me, becoming the outcast, the outsider, the boy with nothing but his parents. One was an American on the run from justice, and the other, a IRA fighter who killed herself and left me for dead too.”

-I downed the whole shot of scotch and relaxed in the chair. I took a deep breath and took in the silence around me. Not having to hear the problems around Fight, not having to have Eric ask me a million questions, just me. Me and my own thoughts. And after a moment of taking in the silence, I smiled-

“You know, this lass, Michelle… She’s a bloody genius. I have me facing another dude, who is best buds with her man Moore, defending HER title belt. An’ when you put it together… Its in safe hands no matter what. Its not that I don’t care about winning a piece of gold for the Cure, but in every way one would look at her, she should drop the title. Or be stripped. Or just have a new tournament to crown a new Bronx champ. Cept that’s not happening, instead she has this fighter man, named only Poptart defending in her name. An’ it all works in our favor. Those fuckin’ elitist’s cunts like Warstein who think themselves better, would be raging at this very idea of a match. Another person standing in for another? Sacrilege! Heresy they’d cry. And I hate them for thinking such bullshit.”

-I rose up from my chair and began walking towards my own kitchen-

“A fight’s a bloody fight. Surrounding circumstances be damned. If Michelle has faith in this Poptart character, who is anyone else to judge? He’s already gotten her the belt in her stead, so he’s a proven combatant. An’ if she were capable of defending it, she would. I have nothing against her choosing to fight this way. It’s smart, creative and it keeps the belt defended. An’ best of all, it stays in our hands. She may not be in the Cure, sure, but Brando is, an’ she ain’t no elitist cunt like Warstein or Montuori. Who think themselves above all an’ even god. She’s smart, an’ I’m smart enough to know that, win, or lose, the belt is away from those “Dynasty” pricks.”

-When I got to the kitchen I pulled out a bottle of whiskey and uncorked it. And then drink from the bottle.-

“Heh… I can get used to this. An’, another thing is. Had this whole deal been about one of those on the top players with all that blood money, and they had to defend like her… They’d send just some schmuck instead. But never ever would they have that lad or lass defend in their name. Because how DARE they? How dare anyone put their belt on the line with someone else doing it for them? Because FUCK EM! Fuck em is what they’d say! Fuck the people who work just as hard, fuck the lads who injure themselves for this shit, fuck the whore! If any of em had at all been in the position like Miss Michelle is right now, they’d just sit their ass on the belt instead, and we’d never have the blessing to witness Poptart. An-“

-I stopped myself in the middle of the living room, looking around because I just came to a realization… I had to sit-

“This is why we fight… This is what Liz set to correct months ago. Holy shit… (sip) This whole place was built on the ashes of a company run by the very same elitist mother fuckers who sought control an’ she saw it coming. She saw what they were becoming back then an’ she wanted to enforce means to end the poison before it could manifest. That’s what that upper echelon is, that cancer. They’d scoff and spit at Miss Michelle an’ they’d laugh in her face if I won the title from Poptart. But the Cure wouldn’t. We wouldn’t because we would all applaud her for trying… I certainly would. The Cure doesn’t care about any “Freebird Rule” because as long as the belt stays away from those in this so-called “Dynasty” or others who would just, not defend their title under any circumstance, then it’s perfectly cool. (sip) In the end though, I look forward to facing Poptart. I’ll give ‘im a fight of his life. It’ll be good to fight em, even if it isn’t the champion herself. It’s my first title chance one-on-one. I’ll give ‘im a scrap alright. I’ll-“

-The door opened and Eric walked in-

“Hey bro, I was coming over to see how… you… were… What happened?”

“… Forget I wasn’t alone.”


“Nothing Eric, nothing. What did you want?”

“Well it’s not what I want, it’s what you want? Lizzy told me to check up on you up here. Said that you might be lonely, and spend some time with you if you needed it and-“

“No no Eric, I’m alright laddie I’m very, very alright. Um… Could use a lager, could you- here.”

-I pulled out two twenty dollar bills and handed them to Eric-

“Go down to the shops at the bottom floor an’ get a pair of Guinness for us? We’ll drink together.”

“I’m uh… Not so sure about this. I don’t even like that kind of beer-“

“Then get it for me please just, need some alcohol in my system.”

“Alright, alright Eoin, I get it, I get it… I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

-Eric would walk out of the door and leave me alone again-

“Thank god. Now where was I? … Oh! (sip) Poptart thats right. I don’t hate the guy, matter of fact all I know of him, I don’t dislike at all. He’s some lad, looking for a nice Fight paycheck and he’s getting it. I’ll make him get every penny he’s worth. From the lass’s mouth, he’s not a wrestler, him’s a fighter. So I’ll fight ‘im. Bare knuckle, hard nosed, kiss and make up later kinda fight. Whole point of this is to keep the title away from those who wish to steal it. An’ we gotta prove that it won’t be easy to just take it from Michelle. She’ll have some serious backup while she’s unable to compete. An’ I thinks that she should know that, we gots her back. She may not be in The Cure, but there is no harm in helping the heart of one of our own. (sip) Besides, whats another belt to those jack asses anyway? More “Bloody money?” More, vacation time that they just get to watch us wrestle and they don’t get to? Or better yet, take this belt and steal the idea that they would do if we didn’t steal it first? Yeah… Yeah they’d do just that. Cry wolf when they would do the very same thing… Except they WOULDN’T defend their belts that their obligated to! They’ll come up with fifteen different excuses and “legality reasons” that they couldn’t defend their championships. “

-I tried to take a sip of the whiskey but when I did, the bottle was empty-

“What? I- Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Ah!!”

-I tossed the bottle at the window, that harmlessly bounced off it and landed on the floor due to the durability of the window-

“How’s a man supposed to think to himself when there is no booze in the apartment? For fucks sakes! How can I think straight or even LIVE without it?! If my ma was still alive she’d burn this whole place to the bloody bedrock if there was no booze around here!”

-The door opened again and it was Eric holding a tray of Guinness beer-

“Hey bro, I got the beer… Are you alright?”

ERIC! You beautiful son of a whore come over here with that!”

“What the-“

“Nevermind I’ll just get it myself!”

-I marched over to Eric who is clearly shaken up but I took a glass off the tray and Eric just saved the other three glasses from falling. Meanwhile I drank the beer happily-

“Oh good god thats the ticket to happyland.”

“Dude… Bro are you alright? You’re acting super weird, and not the good kind of weird. You’re drinking alot and your being erratic… Did you take a hit of my weed?”

“ABSoluuutly not Eric, I don’t drink weed. I drink the finest beer this god forsaken country has to offer.”

“Wait, drink weed?”

“Of course my little brother you wouldn’t need to know that nonsense when your a lively pothead. Drinking helps clear the mind you’ll understand one day. (sip)

“I’m not sure I want to bro… You’re kinda… Kind of scaring me.”

“You have our father’s gene’s you’ll unlock your potential one day.”

“I hope not… I still don’t wanna know anymore about him.”

“Eric my lad?”

“Yeah Eoin?”

“I love ya.”

-Eric’s face went blank almost dropped the beer but I saved it-

“Alright, you’re absolutely drunk… Imma go get Liz… See what she can do to help you…”

“Why are you running for lad? I just give you my heart and your running?”

“I’m… I’m just gonna go… I’ll be back!”

-Eric ran off and shut the door once again-

“Dunno what his problem is. I just tell him I love him, he says it to me all the time… Oh well. More love for me to go around. (sip)