you love the bottle
you love him more
There was nothing here for her. The flag had been lowered and was now lying limply on the soaked ground, the rain falling in a soft pitterpatterpitterpatter on top of it. There was a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, and she was crouched down, her back firmly against the brick wall behind her. She couldn’t see anyone, not anymore. They were probably dead.
Rebellion wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t honourable or courageous. It was dark, gritty, horrible. It operated in the shadows, so that no-one else could see what they were doing. And it wasn’t worth it.