Tall, incredibly good looking guy, seeks fantasy and horror fiction, roleplaying and card games to trade.
  Is currently a second-year student of Psychology at the University of Johannesburg, and a part-time comic shop underlord.

This is Warren's first story for Something Wicked. 

extract from Addiction 

A loud buzzing. The same annoying alarm clock, every day.
He wakes up, feeling like he hasn't slept at all. His stomach feels like he's swallowed a quart of battery acid, his head is pounding. There's blood on his hands.
Same as every other day.
  The sun seems too bright, so he closes the curtains, leaving himself in darkness.
Why the hell was his curtain open anyway?
For possibly the thousandth time in his life, he realizes he should quit drinking.
He goes to the bathroom. He looks half dead. He feels half as good as he looks. He washes his face, his hands,
  (But the blood why's there blood)
  and tries to remember the night before.
  Nothing.
  Blackness.
  (Except the blood oh god the blood)
  He stares at himself in the mirror, stares into his own face, as if trying to compel himself to remember his night. Then he walks out, his basin stained red.
  (With blood oh god it's blood)
  Same as every other day.