Everything was a blur, she knew it would be, she sometimes wondered why it still suprised her.

She didn’t take her poison the old fashioned way, or the way it was taken in movies and books, the green wasn’t any prettier diluted with water or sugar, or burning with flaming blues and whites, it just took longer to hit her stomach.

So she raised her shot glass and threw back the straight Absynthe, the liquid magma of licorice and gasoline burning away her esophagus more than the nicotine ever could, the fire she avoided on the drink itself already a raging inferno in her stomach, everything was a blur until her brain cells registered. After the blur, well, there was just the Absynce of All.


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