Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
Last Call for Alcohol
Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009
Guy walks into a bar, says to the bartender: “Give me three drinks.”
Bartender says to Guy: “What kind of drinks do you want?”
Guy waves dismissively. “Don’t matter. First drink takes the edge off today, helps me forget. Second drink helps me prepare for what’s next. Third drink opens a portal to a new world, a new life.”
Bartender looks at Guy. Hasn’t seen him in here before, then again he has. There’s always someone they remind you of. Always someone whose words sound like someone else’s. Spend enough time in bars and you know everyone.
Guy sits at the bar but doesn’t remove his coat or hat, just waits patiently for his drinks.
Bartender pours him a beer, says: “It’s almost last call. You gonna drink three drinks before you have to leave?”
Guy smiles. “No problem.”
Bartender looks around the bar. Thursday night, not very crowded, a few tables with some quiet conversation, nothing he has to worry about. He glances back at Guy, who has already downed his beer.
“Where will you go?”
Guy looks up. “Dunno. Somewhere else. I just want to start over.”
Bartender mixes a Long Island and sets it on the bar. “Maybe this’ll help,” he says.
Guy drinks for a bit, then pauses to say: “How about you? Where would you go?”
Bartender shrugs. “Hadn’t thought about it. I’ve never been to Russia.”
Guy finishes his drink, says: “Then give me a shot of your best vodka.”
Bartender pours a shot of Jewel of Russia, and sets it on the bar. He turns away, begins organizing his bottles, prepping for tomorrow. Then he says: “What if you don’t like your next life any more than you like this one? What if you jump from life to life and find that, no matter where you go, no matter what you do, everything in your life is exactly the same? The same problems, the same regrets, the same obstacles keeping you from reaching your ultimate goals. What if it doesn’t matter where you go?
Guy snorts. “Happens to everyone,” he says, as his empty shot glass hits the bar.
Bartender turns around to ask what he means, but Guy is gone, and a confused-looking Russian soldier holding a bottle of Budweiser sits in his place.
Skye Makes a Bargain
Monday, March 2nd, 2009
Cuhulain learnt the salmon’s leap from her; great Aife fought her. She pitched her camp on an island off of Alba, giving it her name: Skye. When the women came, crying, “Teach us!” she taught.
One evening she stood on the headland with her back to the School of Battles. She heard the wings behind her, then smelled the stink. She didn’t turn around. Even goddesses ought to have manners, not just show up.
“A bargain, Skye,” croaked the goddess, so she turned.
“Good evening, your Ladyship,” she said. The Lady of Battles engulfed the school behind her in shadow.
“A bargain, Skye.”
“I have already made our bargain, your Ruthlessness,” she said, “when first I stuck a sword in a gut. To you I go in the end, serving a life for each life taken. I know it.”
“Not that bargain. One for your students, each one who picks up a sword under your eye, and those that will call your name in times to come.”
Skye knew that the Lady of Battles had the Light of Foresight and often forgot whether she saw today, yesterday, or the hundred thousandth tomorrow.
“They’ll remember you, they will,” said the Lady of Battles. “And my hand guides your sword, my wing stretches over your students. A bargain, Skye!” she crowed.
‘Always bargains,’ thought Skye. ‘Gods can never say, here, have limitless power, or endless life, or a good poop, whatever, and leave it.’
“What bargain, your Stinkiness?”
“A girl dedicated to me every generation!”
‘No need to screech,’ thought Skye. ‘Screeching, always.’
“And if I don’t agree?”
“Your school to wither, your teachings to fail those taught!”
And that, thought Skye, was the heart of it—gods don’t really bargain at all. Give up teaching? Give up showing women the strength in their sword arm? She thought how always one girl stood fiercer, more ruthless than the rest, not afraid to summon the terrible carrion Lady by saying her real name three times.
The sun had set on Alba.
“I’ll make the bargain,” sighed Skye. “You’ll know her. In each generation taught on this land, one will go to you, your Ravenity.”
Nowadays the School has only one stone arch and a name, the Fortress of Shadows. They say a girl still finds herself there, sometimes. They say Joan of Arc came once, and Queen Elizabeth. They say many things, whatever.