story
Two men sat in a bar, it was late afternoon, after the people who crowded in for a brief lunch, and the feeling of comradeship, and before the business men and women came for their cocktails, and cheap talk before hiding in their dim grey walls, secluded by their own conformity. It was the in between time of the regular drinkers, and those who had nowhere else to go. The bar was old, faded and warn inside. In the corner, over the racks of clean glasses a TV set stood, small and warn, it didn’t have any of the features of the newer Reactors, instead it pandered to a mass media, allowing many to view. Dimly lit, the two men’s attention was focused on the TV, watching as a photo was flashed. The woman in the photo was well known, a celebrity in this town. She was slim, fragile looking. Her pale blue eyes looked clear and distant, as if, she had stopped seeing what was in front of her. Her long dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her pale skin looked all the paler in the bright, fluorescent light. The picture was three years old, From the inquisition of her husband’s death. If she was a celebrity, her husband had been a bright shining star, hanging low in the horizon where all could see and admire his talent and beauty. Even his death had been showered with the attention only a deity could be given. Watching the caption below the picture, the younger of the two men, a dirty blonde who had given up trying to find work of late, and instead attempted to drown his misfortune in something more stimulating then his girlfriend, falling into bed too late, and leaving too early, said in a slow, mellow voice, “Word on the street she was with her lover when she died.”
The other man, slightly older, and more weary of life’s misfortune replied, “Word on the street, her lover wasn’t human.”
At this point, a young, tired looking woman of medium height entered the bar. She was wearing faded red tights, a tight black skirt, and a tight black top. Her hair, dyed black, hang limply around her shoulders. She wore little makeup except dark, heavy eyeliner and mascara. The effect was a slightly top heavy, warn out face. “It didn’t matter that Alyd wasn’t human, he set her free from the misery we put her through after her husband’s death.”
[more later]
The other man, slightly older, and more weary of life’s misfortune replied, “Word on the street, her lover wasn’t human.”
At this point, a young, tired looking woman of medium height entered the bar. She was wearing faded red tights, a tight black skirt, and a tight black top. Her hair, dyed black, hang limply around her shoulders. She wore little makeup except dark, heavy eyeliner and mascara. The effect was a slightly top heavy, warn out face. “It didn’t matter that Alyd wasn’t human, he set her free from the misery we put her through after her husband’s death.”
[more later]