A Bit of Tomorrow

First

Cassy

        I eventually found myself in front of a bar. I was frustrated, I know how many times I forced myself not to be seen in these places but that's the least of my concern now. I swung the glass door open and was surprised at how the place was almost empty.

         Either way, I pushed myself towards the counter and climbed up on one of the stools as the bartender stood to take my order. "What would you like, ma'am?"

             "Liberty." I muttered under my breath, positioning both of my elbows on the table as I stuff my face in both of my hands.

            "Come again, ma'am?" the bartender shifted his head to the side in attempt to hear my voice.

             "I'll have three tequila shots, please." I waved him off, making him scurry into fixing me one.

        I know, of all people, I should be the one who would be used to all of this. I've been living this career with publishing contracts being shoved in my face. It just did not feel right to be tied down and asked that your works be under someone else's name. The least I could care about is the money, they can suck up on it. But the freedom of owning your works, it's the best gift a living and able writer could have.

        The thing about these companies is that they fail to embody what the true reason of their existence in their industry, the essence of sharing the greatest stories the world is yet to unravel. It just has been the competition of who sells out their books first. They even ignore small writers who are trying to establish their names in the industry.

       Chances and opportunities should be endless for people who truly value their passion. Heck, those undocumented authors are the ones who come out with fresh and soulful works, where are they? Being rejected every time they try.

      The bartender slid the shot glasses in front of me as I fixed my slouching position and drank the contents into my system, wiping my mouth with my bare hands. I did not waste any second and just chugged down the remaining glasses in my sight.

      I hailed the bartender and asked for additional shots. As the bartender fixed my drink, I swing my seat around and scanned the serene bar. I adjusted my posture, leaning against the counter and my vision landed on a man, probably aged the same as mine, his hair was a mess, his face looked so sullen and was deep in thought by the way he was staring into space.

       He was gripping his glass which I assumed to be filled with beer and was circling it around the air. It seemed like he has been through such a long day. His eyes were kind of red too, from my view given that it was a little dark here with faint lights just like every bar would be. I guess I'm not the only one who's been having such a rash day.

       I heaved a breath and turned my seat around to face the counter again this time, focusing myself one the liquor that was in front of me. Shot after shot, I only became more frustrated. It was unfortunate that I was here at this time of the night, drinking my worries and emotions out. It just kept piling in.

        I picked up my nth and drank it all the way down, my throat reacting to the alcohol that passed by. I buried my face in my hands and in a minute, I was already crying. The alcohol took over me.

       After crying for about five minutes. I heard a voice beside me. "Miss?" I looked up to see the man I was staring at earlier. "Your purse, it fell." he said as he handed my valuable to me.

           "Oh, thank you.", and by this point I was already drunk. Yes, dead drunk. "Are you good?" I suddenly blurted out, making him face me after he paid the person behind the counter his bill. Cassy! Dignity!