The Saviour

"Time to face the music," Carl sighs to himself as he downs his tenth or eleventh shot of whiskey down. "Why'd I ever let them call me by my first name?" He props up his collar, tugs down his hat, and imagines himself a doppleganger of Sherlock Holmes. Only he knows he's better than fiction. His walk isn't steady and his knuckles are whiter than usual as he grips on the door handle and pushes the floodgates open.

"Carl, we did just as you suggested and the wars on...

"Carl, we've got confirmation that the political situation in North Kor..."

"... still rage on? Could you have possibly been wr..."

"Carl, the polar ice caps have recovered significantly since we..."

"Carl..."

"Carl..."

"Carl..."

Reporters everywhere. He pushes through the crowd, heading towards the nearest store, two blocks away, that'll get him the top of the line noise cancellation headphones. 

It's been like this for a month now. Ever since he got drunk and snorted pure Peurvian powder with Pedro and got too cocky. He just had to go and prove that he is a know-it-all. Again. But he'd never done it to this scale before. He usually manages to limit it to winning a few small bets to pay for his daily bread and liquor. He's been slowly crossing bars off the list, making himself unwelcome across town and, this time, he really blew it. He must've known it would end this way at the time but he didn't care. He doesn't even remember doing it. Just him shouting out to the latino crowd that he'll show them what the Second Coming's miracles would look like. That was after the first phone call was made, after the damage had been done.

Now, politics, science, religion, economics, philosophy - well - all academia has been thoroughly dissolved at his hand. Yeah, Omniscient Carl the Drunk was more than heard out for once. They actually listened and now they turn to him for everything. For every one problem he solves, another ten emerge. He enjoyed the limelight to begin with, besides, he always thought that he'd know his way out. That was his shtick after all. No can do this time, he'd been properly fuelled to push the envelope passed the point of no return.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" he shouts through clenched teeth, his fists prepared as he moshes his way through. He'd smashed a camera and spat on anyone who'd try to restrain him. He knew, of course, how long it'd be for him to get out so he's come armed. Another quart or two of whiskey hidden in his pockets and as he got angrier and angrier, they went down quicker and quicker.

He could no longer hear what the questions were. All nonsense. No more answers for any of them. Not today, not ever. They'd have to learn to live without him and that'd take longer than what it took for them to become reliant on him. "You've made your fucking bed, now go lie in it! And I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that this is mine." He snickered with a maniac's fervour, eyes wide and crazy.

Then, he collapsed, finally home, asleep between the bar and the liquor store.