Afeallan

"Chapter" Two

Rýnelic stood in the shadow of the Tavern. The building looked dilapidated. The way it was built. Memories fell like wood shavings blown off the table of a carpenter’s shop. Sawdust on the floor. The glass on the windows had a yellow tinge, stained from the tar of smoke. The wood on the walls had names carved in it. Many of them were Rýnelic’s. He looked up. There used to be money stuck to the wooden ceiling. There was none now. Sitting directly past the entrance were two men playing cards. One of the men—a boulder of a man with very few teeth, obviously the owner—had a lack of personal hygiene that Rýnelic took some comfort in. He was run-down. The way he was built. Rýnelic proceeded to the girl behind the bar.

“We don’t see many new folks in here,” she said playfully, looking up at him while wiping a dirty glass. “Where’re you from?” She paused. “You don’t look like you’d fit in anywhere.” Rýnelic looked at her blankly. She was pretty, he thought. She was small and thin, with long dark hair and green eyes. Child-like; as if she were pure as paper before the script. But what caught his attention was the tiny scar above her left eye that she neglected to conceal. “So? What can I get you?”

Rýnelic didn’t speak. Instead, he begrudgingly held up three fingers and pointed to the glass bottle of amber on the top shelf. He girl went to retrieve the container. As she turned around he slumped forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the bar and turning around over his shoulder to survey the establishment and the few patrons silently sipping in their various lonely corners. There was no one he recognized. Not the way Rýnelic remembered it. The girl returned with the drinks, all skillfully held in one hand. He finished them and motioned for three more before she had time to resume her cleaning duties.

It grew late. The hours left in the day decreased inversely to the number of patrons in the bar. Rýnelic could feel his liver. He sat still as death, leaning forward, arms crossed. Brooding. The more people that came in, the more he remembered his reasons for being with them. He looked over to the left and saw a woman singing a song he didn’t know, off-key, to some man she seemed to know. Not on a personal level. She was working. Looters after the fall are the true optimists. Rýnelic stood up. He landed on the balls of his toes and arched his back trying to catch his balance, ultimately coming down hard on his heels and having to take a step backwards. He stood still for a moment, his arms out a bit from his body. He looked around at the hustle of the crowd, and then looked down at his feet, trying to stand. “What happened to this place?” he asked aloud. Any over-hearer would have mistaken his question for a long, airy groan. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked the woman to his left, whispering some obscene scenario into the ear of the nearest body. She didn’t respond. Rýnelic turned terminus.

There was a stage built years ago for musical performers to play their songs and entertain clientele. A stage Rýnelic knew well. Now it was nothing more than a dusty step, a walking hazard, in the corner of a bar. Rýnelic took notice and stumbled in its direction, clutching the glass of an empty drink he remembered to be full. The girl behind the counter said nothing. She folded her arms and leaned back, watching. Rýnelic raised his left leg and straitened it so that his right leg could join it on the rising. He turned to face the crowd, who was oblivious to his arrival. Someone, he noted, had taken his seat at the bar.

“What is the matter with you?” Rýnelic asked, almost off-handed, swaying forward as if in a bow. No one heard. He raised his glass, noticed it was empty, and threw it on the ground with a force he did not think he possessed. The glass shattered like sparks from a flame. Everyone turned to the body on the platform. The woman muttering obscenities let out a momentary shriek. “What happened to you?!” screamed Rýnelic at the pentacle of his lungs. His voice squeaked in the middle. There was no answer. Darkness.