BASTARDS (A Collaboration Story with LaMusica)

Credits to LaMusica

O:

The glass in my hand was the same one as yesterday. The same sharp points that lined the surface from the imperfections of human handling. Light reflected itself upon the translucent cold that crept up the mug. It was cold… snowing, actually. Nevertheless, I consumed the ice. It was handed to me by a warm friend. I’d seen her. She was there all the time; always there at the bar. I couldn’t very well, place a guess on why she kept on doing what she did… although the others did. They always spoke with her. Mundane, yet the conversation led them to countless worlds of wonder.  I wondered, in the dim light of the bar, who could wander the world without wonder’.

F:

There was never a cold night out on the streets like tonight. I’ve been kicked out of my own home again, drifting for a place to hunker down till the snow stops. I don’t know what drew me to this lonely street, with the flickering lamp posts and its cracked sidewalks. It might have been because of the daze of getting kicked out, or the snow storms relentless fall blinding my view. Either way, there was a warm neon sign that said ‘Bar’, and it lead down to the basement of an apartment building. Thinking back I would never have gone into that bar, but I would have walked so many more blocks before getting to a decent place to stay. Walking in all I could think of was that the place was old. Not the glorious old or the senile old. It was the used and abused old, the old that was barely taken care of if not at all. There was barely anyone but a man sitting alone in a booth, and a waitress sitting down with three rowdy men in the middle of the room. There was a bar stool that looked like it was fairly lit up; I sat down and ordered a beer with what little money I had in my wallet. It was decent, enough that I could forget my problems.

O:

He walked in, silent as the dead, yet moved with the luxury of life. Comparing him to the only customers who would join the waitress each and every night, he was the youngest. She’d watched him as he entered, we all did, yet his eyes never met another living thing’s gaze. Not even the cowering fly waiting to be devoured from the web. He spoke softly, as any person would, on a night like this. He was a man of malt. I liked that. Not many here were of that calibre. Malt. The strength to endure such was a rare quality, in the men of new. He was uneasy, ‘Why, who wouldn’t be?’ I asked the half empty glass I held. Nobody hears the corner man, and we were, corner men. The light above him reflected his face upon the glass; as pale as this ghastly weather.

F:

I was born into a poor family. I mean poor family, that we didn’t bond together like a family should. We had money that was sure, but we didn’t really have that family tie that makes us cry during funerals. First mother passed away, we got by and didn’t talk about it. Then dad went, without a word, without any drama. They left me when I was already independent, when it was about time to send them support money and make grandchildren for them to baby. A few years before dad passed away I met Jane. We were only slightly attracted to each other. We knew that after years of trying to get the best partner we could find that we would never be able to get him or her. So we married out of stalemate, we just settled. I don’t know where it went downhill, we both weren’t really enjoying it but we coped. Then she got angry at night, and then she started pushing me out of the house. I wasn’t impotent, but she just didn’t like me anymore I guess. So I’m in the bar, with my jacket over my pyjamas and staring into the wall of liquor like a damn jarhead. Sipping on my fifth beer, not even caring if the snow stopped pouring anymore. I was relaxed.

O:

Time was a strange thing in that bar. It never seemed to clock down correctly. This could have been due to the lack of windows, yet, even if it did have any, what light was there to let in? I presumed, none. Thoughts came and went and after thousands of reconstructed images of the past, and the other thousands of projected future, no one ever talked about the present. The glass seemed to wear thin, for a mug, and my senses were dull. Perfect for thought, since nothing disturbed the mind. I noticed the man had more than the usual two or four beers that everyone always had. A thoughtful man. This bar only knew a few thinkers, and most had already become drunken suicides, or merely drunken road kill. The exasperated sighs this man let out brought about theories. Theories that I dare not prove. To prove would mean to speak. To communicate, and, with a stranger, too. The use of language endangers us all. For when a thought is expressed, erroneous becomes the thought in the other person’s head. How silly it was, that those three with the waitress always spoke louder than actions.

F:

I was finishing my fifth beer, when one of the three men started throwing insults. They were directed at me because there was no one else to shout to in my direction. I finished my beer, ask for one last one. His insults were getting worse, and his voice was getting louder. I was almost dizzy from my beers, more confidence than usual. He insulted me again, I faced him from my bar stool giving an unimpressed look.

O:

They lost themselves, the three, amongst the stars in their heads. Destructive and violent, they thought of conquest. Dominion of the stars surrounding the largest; the source of heat on this cold night. Upon my star I sat and observed. They had placed their flag on unholy grounds. The newcomer turned to face their insults. ‘Why, fellow men, have you succumbed to such insane lengths of torture?’ My glass reflected me a reply which I could not fully understand. The cold no longer blurred and the clarity of the glass revealed the unusual answer. The answer was with the man, was my first thought. Yet a little lower, the three men had more than their fair share of malt. The fly was wrapped in a web, head out. It remained un-devoured.

F:

As if to prove his dominance the man sat up from his chair, standing with his fat beer belly sticking out as if it were to say, I’m bigger than you so you better back off and leave this bar. We glared at each other while I grabbed one more sip from my beer. I didn’t mind the insults; this was just some stupid guy who’s had too much to drink. This though was something I’ve always wanted to do, to get into a bar fight and pummel a man’s face off. I gulped down all my beer but left the heavy glass mug in my hand. He approached me still, not noticing my new weapon. He spat in my face. At this point he was about a foot away from me. I smashed the heavy end of the beer mug into his skull.

O:

One of the three grew bolder with his words, and was struck down, decisively by the newcomer. The two stood up. The waitress scurried behind the bar. The newcomer’s glass was broken. Blood was on the floor. Father time had forgotten this world, leaving us with this. I dared not intervene, though I knew the waitress all too well. I knew the men all too well. The first of the two grabbed the newcomer’s arm with his hand. I pondered on the thought of the newcomer knowing that he’d just struck down a police officer, and that he was now being held by his partner, and that the last one of the men, was a lumberjack. Such abuse of worthless authority…

F:

They were stupid. They came for me when they could have helped their friend who I had just bashed in the head. They shoved my face into the bar and one of them was hand cuffing me. I caught a glimpse of the man in the booth, still sitting there, still cradling his drink. They brought me out into the cold again, one holding on to my hand cuffed arms while the other shovelled with his hands the snow that was covering the police cruiser. I hope the waitress and bartender knew what they were doing, or at least called for an ambulance.

O:

They took him out of the bar, while the waitress cowered in the corner. I knew I should have helped her, she was, of course, the man’s girlfriend, and somehow, a friend of mine, too. Though, I had more important matters to deal with. I walked up just as they lowered the newcomer’s head into the cruiser. I recalled the spider, and I wondered if it had eaten its meal yet. The snow fell coldly and the wind howled in sorrow as I pulled out the flask of brandy I always kept in my jacket. Taking one last glance at the eternity before us, there was a difference that buried itself within my chest. He’d felt it too, I knew. I crossed the street, wondering how much time that police officer had left. A sip from the flask, and a cigarette in hand, I took the long way home that night.

* This was a collaboration story with my close friend LaMusica

** Can you guess who is me, and who is LaMusica ?

*** Half the credit goes to this guy, as well as half the Copyright.

**** Please read and enjoy!

(c) Anachronic Works & LaMusica Works 2011

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13 thoughts on “BASTARDS (A Collaboration Story with LaMusica)

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  2. kebench says:

    Cool story. Mai-imagine mo kung ano talaga ang nangyayari sa bar. Very intricate and I like how you describe the details.:D

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