For Tomorrow, We Die
Let us eat, drink, and be merry, For tomorrow, we die. . . . An empty glass is raised in the air by a blistered hand, and a man stands up beside it. He smiles shakily, being the only one that hasn't gotten himself absolutely smashed. He used to drink, though, so much that he had gotten himself in trouble nearly every day of the week. I suppose today warrants just a bit of something different. He starts to talk, and all eyes shift to him. "I know-" His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "I know that we're all-" He swallows. "-in a bit of a tough place right now. And, I know that, that this time, we're not getting out of here, that pride and spirit isn't gonna get us out of this one." The silent bar that reeked of expensive scotch and vodka looked downward, a gleam of acknowledgment in their eyes. One of these men looked at his brothers, who looked very much like they were biting back tears, and shouted from the...