Pongo's Secret Troubles || Self-Para
7:23 pm the digital clock on his kitchen wall read and Pongo opened the fridge door and reached inside for a can of beer. The beer here tasted more bitter than the beer at home had, but Pongo didn't care, so long as it was alcohol. A hard couple of days had piled up the stress until it felt as if he was going to explode; alcohol, he had found, was a great soother to his anxieties, and he wasn't going to deny himself of it when he had what he had racing through his mind every second of everyday. It was his only rest bite. Slumping on the sofa, he turned the on the TV, flicking through the channels until he found a pathetic looking film to watch- not really paying attention to what was going on. Pongo's mind was miles away, back home with his mother and father. If only he could get back there. As much as he was enjoying his time at the circus, he wanted nothing more than to jump on the next flight home, but he couldn't do that, not without the medicine, and he couldn't get the medicine without a ridiculous amount of money. Pongo took gulp after gulp of his beer, ignoring the taste, but dying for the feeling of relief it would eventually bring him. He drank another, and another, until his head pounded. His thoughts numbed and so did his vision, and he stayed on the sofa slowly drifting off into a deep sleep, not awaking until the next morning, his throat and moth dry. He sat himself up, his eyes squinted and hair ruffled, with pain coursing through his back and head. The ring of his mobile phone pierced his ears; he threw it onto the carpet, silencing it. The rush of stress and sadness and anxiety all came rushing back in that instant-it wall becoming too much. Glad that no one was there with him, he broke into a sob. Look at me, he thought, a hungover, weak, idiot. He stormed into the batroom, angry with himself, and violently splashed himself with icy water.
