The young man appraised his reflection in the shot glass. The dim lighting of the bar blended the blotchy skin into one, somewhat appealing hue. His alcohol-based image sported an neater beard than he, and the nose was remarkably straight. The man drank his better self, wondering if it would make him any prettier. He belched, but didn't feel any better.
"Maybe another," he tells himself, and asks the bartender for another. A hazy moment passes, and the young man notices a distinct lack of the rattling of glasses, the glug-glug-glug cheap booze being poured and the scratch of a pen recording one more drink on his expansive tab. He turns to see that the bartender has fallen asleep, his only patron forgotten. The generous face was buried in the crook of a large arm on top of the bar, and a muffled snore could be heard. The young man takes this as a sign for free drinks, and helps himself to some of the classy stuff stored in a glass cabinet behind the bar. He wiped the dust off the bottle and refilled his drink.
The amber liquid did wonders to his face, the young man realizes. It really brings out the blue of his eyes. His reflection smiles at him, and he smiles back.
The two men, one more real than the other but neither could tell which, kiss. The young man giggles at the thought of being loved. It has been a long time.
Somewhere behind him, there is a scraping sound. It's the sound of a chair being pushed out, the young man realizes. There had been a lot of it some hours before. He turns to see that a woman at a corner table, hardly touched by the dim light, had done the scraping. Not by getting up but by pushing out the chair across from her. An invitation, the young man realizes.
"Are you coming?" the woman asks in response to the young man's stare.
The young man blinked a few times before walking over to the offered chair. His legs were leaden, but by now he has plenty of practice in being drunk and makes it over with only one stumble. The sitting in the chair wasn't as graceful but the woman didn't say anything.
Swallowing another belch, the young man gets a good look at the woman. She has long, auburn hair tied back under a red headband. As male eyes are known to do, the young man glances at the woman's chest, but he is met by a purple turtleneck, on top of which there was a golden chair with an onyx heart dangling from it.
"If you're quite done," the woman says casually, "You can ask me my name."
The young man does so in a confused manner.
"Huh. Good question," the woman responded as if she had been asked for the name of the UN representative for Bhutan. "My name is...Helen. My name is Helen. And you're Malcolm."
The wits of the young man, dulled as they may be, pick up on this and he begins to protect, but Helen silences him.
"No no no no no, you're a Malcolm. I know my Malcolms when I meet them, trust me."
"Uh," Malcolm says, "Okay then."
"Great. Let's drink to our names," Helen says, producing a flask. The liquid inside bubbles a little as she pours it into two glasses, and is the color of the acid bad guys got burned up in on cartoons.
"What's this?" he asks, taking the heavy glass.
"Tasty," she replies, and drains her drink. Malcolm follows suit.
The drink is strong, that was sure, and tastes vaguely of liquorice.
And then Malcolm wakes up in a stranger's bed, lying next to a woman with long auburn hair and a golden chain with a little black heart.
And this is where I need reviews and comments, because I have no idea where this story is going. Submit your ideas to move the story onward, to continue this young man's journey and maybe achieve a purpose.
