Yesterday's News.

The End.

  "Do you wanna add mystery to your life? Do you? Why?"
  I see her blinking odysseys, sipping my whiskey, leisurely stirring the ice cubes with a crooked finger.
   -"No", words stammering out lifelessly.
   -"You seem bored, Dave."
   -"I'm not. I swear."
   -"It's sad. It really is."
   -"What is?"
   -"Everything."
I stare at her, sipping the last of my whiskey, hungrily searching for those piercing eyes. The ice cubes are melting and I feel like I'm done for. Evaporating. Dripping down the sides into a table of nothingness. Oh god.
   -"Do you want another drink?", she asks while uncorking a French rosé which label I do not recognize.
   -"Yes. I'll take some of that."
   -"Are you sure?"
   -"Very."
   -"Ok", she said, pouring.
   -"Cheers."
 

   Pete is dead. We took him to the hospital after he almost drank himself to death. As it turned out, that's exactly what he did. But the doctor and the nurses and the rest of the staff, even the patients lounging around, act as if they were rehearsing a cheap play at a seedy, broken down theater. The walls are sweating and I can't understand a word coming out of the doctor's mouth. It's all happening too fast for me to grasp. Everything's disjointed and my crippled sense of understanding is melting like burned plastic. Carrie leads us out of the hospital and the fragile night is too wet and awfully suffocating. I can't hardly breathe.
  -"Let's go across the street....", she says as we head towards the bar we spotted on our way in.
  -"Ok." Nothing seems real anymore. The rain falls but we aren't wet as we enter the cozy corner bar.
   We sit on corrugated stools and Carrie orders for me. Half a dozen souls inspect their drinks as their sad faces are sadly reflected against the mirror behind the bar. I drink something bitter that smells like cologne, the ice already diluting it.
  -"Feel better?", Carrie asks.
  -"Almost there I guess."
  -"This sucks, David."
  -"What does?"
  -Everything. Y'know."
  -"I know."

   We're having drinks at the pub near Pete's place and the atmosphere inside is tepid and we're soaked through. Carrie whispers something in my ear but I'm thinking of corpses and Pete dead underground though his body's still at the morgue.
  Someone at the other end of the bar, near the entrance, is smoking a cigar, almost making love to it. And Carrie keeps whispering in my ear as another round of drinks is served in front of us. Outside is scary, I think. Outside there's a box, overhead. It's watching me, watching us, watching everything. Watching my life like a lifeless god perched up there. Hovering up there just for the hell of it.
  -"I saw it", she says between sips.
  -"Me too." A pause.
  -"Remember the angel?"
  -"Yes." Suddenly, I'm confused.
  -"What if he's trapped up there inside the box?" She stares at her drink while his drink sweats and her drink does too. They all sweat.
  -"I get it, Carrie, I really do. But right now I feel like we are trapped inside the damned box."
I sip my drink and everything blurs momentarily. My peripherals are shrinking and I can feel the alcohol diluting my blood. I close my eyes and refused to open them. Is this the end?
  -"It is, Dave. It's definitely the end."