Current Day...

Yellow sits alone in a dimly lit room, the harsh fluorescent light casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Empty bottles litter the table before him, their contents drained and forgotten, their labels blurred and indistinct. With unsteady hands, he reaches for another bottle, the cool glass a familiar comfort against his trembling fingers.

Each swallow burns like liquid fire as it courses down his throat, a bitter reminder of the pain and anguish that has consumed him. Yet he welcomes the numbing embrace of alcohol, the temporary respite it offers from the demons that haunt his mind.

Memories of war and loss swirl in his thoughts like a tempestuous storm, each recollection a dagger plunged deep into his heart. The faces of fallen comrades flicker in and out of focus, their voices echoing in the recesses of his fractured mind.

He drinks until the edges of his consciousness blur and the world spins in a dizzying whirlwind of sensation. Yet even in the depths of his intoxication, he cannot escape the haunting specter of guilt that looms over him like a shadow.

For Yellow knows that no amount of alcohol can drown out the memories of his past, nor can it absolve him of the sins he committed in the name of war. Each bottle emptied is a futile attempt to silence the demons that torment him, yet they remain ever-present, lurking in the depths of his soul.

And so he drinks, until the world fades into darkness and he is left alone with his regrets, a broken man adrift in an endless sea of sorrow. For Yellow, the bottle is both his salvation and his damnation, a fleeting escape from the horrors of his past and a relentless reminder of the price he paid for his sins.

<>~|||END OF YELLOWS TRAUMA|||~<>

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