Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months, as Alister isolated himself in his cluttered, dimly lit room. Empty pizza boxes, chip packets, and beer bottles littered the floor. His once-sharp mind now dulled by alcohol and grief. One fateful morning, Alister stirred, his husky voice barely above a whisper. “What day is it?” He rose from his disheveled bed, his hair tousled, clothes sweat stained, and eyes bloodshot. Stumbling to the refrigerator, he muttered, “Only one beer left.” With a resigned sigh, he retrieved the last bottle and returned to his bed. “Now I’ll have to restock the fridge,” he mumbled, annoyance lacing his tone. In one swift motion, he downed the remaining beer, the empty bottle joining the countless others that had become his sole solace. As the last drop drained, Alister’s gaze wandered, lost in a sea of despair, his eyes now a cold, dead stare, devoid of hope. Alister’s gaze drifted towards the window, where sunlight struggled to penetrate the pitch
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