depression
#1 of Darkest Tales of the Corrupted
Peraloth woke with a screaming headache that threatened to split his hybrid skull open. He staggered out of bed, and managed to make it to the bathroom without braining himself on anything. This is what he got for getting drunk. He relieved himself and checked his phone. It had been two and a half days since he had crashed. He stuck his head out of the bathroom door, and confirmed the many empty whisky bottles. From here he could see the mirror and razor on the coffee table. He hated the crash and morning after, but loved the high.
He finished in the bathroom, and walked back out to the living room. The needle was still on the table as well, and he felt a pull toward it. He shook his head and picked up a few bottles, the old depression already setting in. He hated being what he was. Humans called him a freak, and the anthros wouldn't look at him. He had all the strength of a dragon, but all the weaknesses of being human. He had been an experiment that most said would fail. They took DNA from a human and DNA from a dragon and spliced it in a lab. He had been the result, along with two others. It had been nearly thirty years, and the other two had committed suicide in the last six.
Peraloth had been the name the scientist had stuck him with, not expecting him to live through the growing process outside both an egg and a womb. The thought of the years since filled him with rage, and he let out a roar as he hurled a bottle against the wall of his basement apartment. It shattered, sending clear fragments all over the room. He didn't care; his black scales protected him from them.
He grabbed his customized, long leather trench coat and slid into it. It, like his scales, was black as midnight. He didn't grab a hat; it wouldn't do anything to hide his snowy white fur-hair on his head that grew between his seven horns. Why he had so many, nobody could say. He hated it. He hated them. It was there fault he was alive. He loathed being him. Being gawked at where ever he went. He grabbed his combat knife off the counter before he left.
It was morning when he stepped outside, the cold winter air slithering against him. He welcomed its frigid embrace. It was the only thing that kept him sane now, yet he had no idea why. He walked the short flight of stairs to ground level. A few kids were playing in the grass; being a Saturday, it was to be expected. They stopped to stare at him as he walked across the grass to his car, also black. He had managed all this from money the scientists still sent him.
He got into the 1969 Corvette and brought it to life with a roar. Grunge blasted out of the speakers to assault his ears. He turned it up loader. He tore out of the apartment complex to the gates, then toward downtown. The freeway was packed, as it usually was during this time of day. He took the first exit off, cursing all on the wrenched road.
He pulled in to the parking lot of a Wal-Mart and got out of his car. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the waves of people. He walked quickly inside, and his coat and appearance drew very strange looks. He tried to ignore them. A few mothers kept themselves between him and them. Some husbands gripped their wives shoulders. Hate boiled up in the pit of Peraloth's stomach, and he wanted to kill something.
He got what he needed and paid for it all, and then went back to his car. After he put the groceries into the trunk, he got in and started the machine. He gripped the wheel with near crushing force and tried to calm down. His mind, over the years, had become broken and unstable at times. It was like trying to get a badly cracked bowl to hold water. He processed thoughts as fast as he could, bringing his rage under control. He pulled out of the parking lot with a little more speed then he needed, nearly taking out a pedestrian. He didn't care.
He sped along, a few miles over the limit. Rain started to fall, frigid and slick. Furs started running, trying to get into the dry. Peraloth loved the rain. It cleansed the city of all the negative energies and made everything feel new and clean. Peraloth pulled over on the side of the road and turned off the car. For half an hour he listened to that soothing pitter patter of the drops of water on the metal roof. That is until it started slowing. He sighed and started the car again and headed toward the beach. It would be empty this time of year, and the rain only furthered that.
When he got there, the tide was low. The air was moist and smelled fresh. The waves sounded rhythmically, every second or two a new wave crashed to shore. He had always loved it here. Ever since he was a child he had liked playing in the sand and water. He enjoyed those memories, letting himself float away in them, never wanting to come back. A single tear formed and fell down his face. Those times were gone, and the pain threatened to tear him open. He missed his brothers. They were the only ones who truly understood him.
Peraloth found himself nodding off. He got back into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. The road was empty for a few miles, and he turned off the music. He just listened to the road under the tire. He envied tires. They were always meeting new pavement. Never looking back, always rolling forward. They never had to deal with pain. Never memories, nor the pain they bring.
Ok, it's a brand new line from me, and you choose what happened next!
1) He can go get more booze and drugs.
2) He can go get help.
3) He can go try to find love
4) other