RE: You Wake Up In A Bar
09-15-2018, 01:14 AM
The stillness is overwhelming. The radio slowly blips to a stop as it runs out of songs to play, and people to play for. The noise of the day echoes one more time against the weak wooden walls of the Starwood Bough, and then all sound, all of ev, is now yours and yours alone.
You shuffle like a corpse to the sink and begin washing the heap of dishes in solemn silence.
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The glass of Bright and Air-ly is clean. You set it aside. The bar gently hums with the heartbeat of your sacred moss.
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The glass of It's Not Thyme Yet is clean. You set it aside. As you exhale oxygen, the last bit of heat in the bar interior finally leaves as the heater shuts off with a soft 'click'. Even the world is sleeping, now. Even the world. But you don't feel tired, not a bit-- not a single bit.
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The glass of Iced Haze is clean. You set it aside. It seems funny, for a moment, how much effort you poured into these drinks. They were presented as best as you could manage for each and every one, and now the remains slink down the watery pipe like nothing ever was. Down it goes, you think. Down it goes.
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The glass of Night Drider is clean. You set it aside. A beautiful thing only half-finished from Nadezhda. A beautiful thing which you refuse to believe could have had a negative effect. Not with so much work put into such a beautiful thing...
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The glass of Lilac Dreamer is clean. You set it aside. You still don't know what exactly it did to the bug, but...
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The meloncup of Hydra Hydration is clean. Each moment you spend washing, an instinct in the back of your mossy head tells you to watch for another patron at the door, but it is failed each time. The bar is closed. You closed the bar. With a flick of a switch behind your cooking equipment, the light went on, and the bar is closed. But something in you still wants the door to swing open for another time.
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The plate of the Sates Catsberry is clean. You set it aside. A moment of clarity clears out the bad thoughts again. These people you've met are set in routine. Tomorrow can't possibly be more terrifying than today, and it can't not come. No day will be as new and unforgiving as the first one.
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The plate of Mutually Shirred Deconstruction is clean. You set it aside. Today was just the first stop on a train which will run for a long time. You don't know how long, but it can't end. Even if it ended, there's always more after that ending. And more after that. Greene is not a single mind trapped in this world, and Greene is not a mortal consciousness. All the component parts may collapse, and there will always be the whole that they have created. Always. Always. Always.
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The mug of Mulled Again Mulligan is clean. You set it aside. You take a long breath. You begin preparing one last drink for yourself.
Something to quench this emptiness, this loneliness, until the morning hours come again.
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Something like this.
You begin drinking your new creation with a new calm, sitting back against the stove and looking over all that has become your home in the last nine months. It's soothing, this mix-- something specially designed for your tastes. And as you finish it whole, the world begins to come into focus again. But it's a blurry focus. A blurry, tiring focus. You set the glass down, sit back against the counter, and stare off into...
into...
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