Let the Sober Speak

alcohol! i need my alcohol!
from afar, there can be heard a sound as lightning through dry air splits.
sobriety is good. sobriety is good.
cut!
alcohol! i need my alcohol! please give me my alcohol!
a woman in black enters; with a small knife she cuts a wound on the mad man’s left palm.
i do not need blood, woman!
the woman lefts as though deaf, not even stopping to give the man another glance.
whoever hears, whoever is there, listen to me! sobriety is not a lesser evil!
splits.
there were many voices, both of men and women.
poi-sssson.
the voices start to become softer as though snakes hidden in tall grasses. poi-ssssson. give the man poi-ssssson . . .
then they became but whispers.
poi-sssson, poi-ssssson . . .
then suddenly the chorus became louder, though slowly, the crescendo becoming so loud that thunder had to quiet it.
poi-ssssson . . . poi-ssssssson, poi-ssssson, poi-sssssson, poi-sssson. poi-sssssson. poi-sssson! poi-ssssson! POI-SSSSSSSSSON!
then a piercing shriek from a woman from afar replaced the boom.   
aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
woman, do not punish yourself! just give me my alcohol!
there was silence. the woman enters again with a flask of bourbon.
hold out your hands!
the man obeyed.
the woman poured the drink over his cupped palms.
aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
although clearly painful, the scream was short. the man immediately lapped up the fluid in his cupped hands. both blood and bourbon covered his mouth, but he was oblivious to his barbarism.
hisssss bloooood issss not poi-ssssson? hissssss bloooood! poi-sssssson! is it? is it not?
the voices asked each other. none held an answer. they could only watch in silence as the man continued to lick his wound.