Already Dead

Scene 1 - Bar and Shooting

The bar smelled like an elephant's asshole, or was that me? I sniffed my jacket and almost barfed. Yes, it was me. I waved down the bartender and asked for a drink. He nodded, putting a glass in front of me. I drank it all in one big gulp and already called the bartender for another glass. 

This is when a lady taller than a street lamp, skinnier than the lamp part, limping like a monkey with a broken leg, waltzes over. I greeted her with a small smile and a glance that hopefully told her I was interested in ripping her clothes off in my tiny studio apartment where the bed touched both walls. She smiled, gave me the 'fuck me' eyes, and sat down beside me. I examined her as we sat in awkward silence for a moment. She was a dirty blonde with dull gray eyes. Covering her lips was a bright red. Little stars hung from her ears and sparkled like diamonds. Yes, she was tall, fairly pretty, and most importantly white.

"Would it be creepy of me if I asked your name?" I asked, terribly close to her. She could smell my bad breath hidden under the mint I sucked on earlier. Her face wrinkled up like printing paper being crumpled. I could see now her true hideousness that hid behind the smile she was once wearing.

"Yes," she said, standing.

"Goodbye to you too, grandma," I said low, under my breath.

"Look in the mirror, ashtray! Be a darling and die in a pothole somewhere, you dick!" The lady shouted as she limped away.

"Then why'd you come over here!?" I shouted back. Why? I was an okay-looking fella, I guess. I had short brown hair that surrounded my face thanks to me not shaving in months; however, my light brown eyes were sure to sparkle in the incandescent lights that dangled from the bar's ceiling in little glass balls, and my smile was sure to capture the eyes of promising young women as it did for the limping lady for just a fleeting moment. If only I knew how to keep her here, stuck in a chair as she beamed at me with naive expectations. My 'player' days ended a long time ago. Now, I was just Jason, the forty-five-year-old guy living alone, drinking alone, and dying alone in Las Vegas.

I got up from the bar stool and walked towards the door, giving the limping lady currently hitting on another depressed forty-year-old another glance before leaving the bar. My eyes stayed glued on the concrete in front of me as I walked. I only made it a couple of feet before I heard gunshots. I looked up at the area they were coming from but saw nothing but the street. Suddenly, another gunshot erupts and this one hits me. That's all I knew. One second I'm drunk, depressed, and alive. Next, I'm dead.