The Anger Inside Me

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the city as I made my way to the store. I needed to get out of the house, away from the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog. My plans to finally break the silence with my father had fallen through, and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing him yet. I was still too angry, too hurt. I pushed open the door of the convenience store, the bell jingling as I stepped inside. The aisles were filled with the usual array of snacks and drinks, but my eyes were drawn to the beer fridge. I reached in and grabbed a six-pack of Heineken, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I clutched the cold bottles in my hand. I made my way back home, my footsteps heavy and slow. The silence was suffocating, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was suffocating too. I needed an escape, and the beer in my hand promised just that. As I entered my apartment, I settled onto the couch, the bottles clinking as I placed them on the table in front of me. I cracked open a bottle, taking a long swig as I fired up my laptop. I opened my email and began to craft a pitch for S. Street Media, my mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. The anger that had been simmering inside me was momentarily forgotten as I lost myself in the creative process. I saw an opportunity to create revenue for myself, to further my career in entertainment, and I seized it eagerly. The hours slipped away as I worked, the only sound the clinking of empty beer bottles as I drained them one by one. I was numb, both physically and emotionally, but for a brief moment, I felt alive. As the night wore on and the beer took its toll, I stumbled to bed, my mind already drifting off to the next big idea. The tension between my father and I remained, but for now, I had found solace in the numbness that only alcohol could bring.

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