Tuesday, 15 September 2020

THE WARP

The restroom door opened. Vesper ambled out and slumped back on the bar stool. Not wasting a moment Exodus refilled his tumbler. Breinz stared at him. 

   “Made a mess in there? In accordance with the pathetic male figure you can’t help conforming to?”

   Vesper returned a weak smile. “No more so than the sensation of relief warrants.”  

   “Go check,” Breinz snarled to Exodus. The cyborg left the rag on the bar, but realized he might need it and shoved it back into his belt and went. Vesper burst into tears all of a sudden. 

   The cyborg stopped and looked back. “Really? That bad in there?”

   “Shh!” Breinz snapped. “This is it! Here it comes, the confession! The phenomenon on which every bar in every quadrant every day justifies its existence. The ravaged soul! Torn, impregnated, burdened beyond its limits with the refuse of life! It’s about to be delivered from its dark bosom, encouraged by alcoholic vapors and two involuntary listeners. One of whom has no choice but to suffer it and the other mercifully relieved of the capacity to understand a thing.” 

   She dropped a glance Exodus’s way, before continuing on Vesper. 

   “Out with it, you pathetic excuse for a man! Let’s hear it! The jury’s in place! Your counsel is standing by!”

   Vesper had his face buried in his elbow. The other hand thumped the bar top like the war drummer was the last man left standing. His sobs filled the room.

   “It’s all over!” he cried in anguish. “I’m doomed!”

   “Excellent!” Breinz shouted with a laugh. “Good opening statement!”


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