Word Count: 137
The brown glass bottle was lukewarm in his hand, its incriminating label peeled off and hidden amongst the leaves. A symphony of horny insects filled the trees and drowned out any reservations the boy may have raised in his own mind about the contents of the bottle. His hands trembled, just slightly, fingers grasping the bottle opener.
It popped off with a satisfying scrape, and the boy shivered in the growing darkness. His heart beat as loud as a card trapped in the spoke of a wheel. Tat tat tat tat tat.
Allan Lawrence breathed in the heady scent of hops and barley, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in anticipation. He closed his eyes, tipped the bottle to his lips and took the first sip of a battle that would last for the rest of his life.