Drop your Burdens
by Natasha Bennett © 2008
"Mauuuuu... "
Jesus, when did he lose the ability to speak? When was the last time he tried to scream? Greg couldn't remember. He opened his mouth, but it felt like there were moths fluttering in his vocal cords, and weeks of spittle were caked on his lips. All Greg could manage was another pitiful moan.
"Guuuuuhhh...."
His eyelids were glued shut, but with some considerable effort, he managed to flick them open. The first thing Greg saw was a flickering neon sign that displayed the word OPEN. It was
dark outside, and he could see a light drizzle splattering against the window.
Inside was a typical bar setting-various tables, a jukebox, a dartboard, and of course dozens of bottles and glasses behind the counter. All of it was covered with a fine layer of dust, which begged the question of why he didn't notice it earlier. But that question was lost amongst other more pressing issues.
There were other patrons in the bar, and all of them were slouched over the tables with blank expressions on their faces. There was only a dim lighting in the bar, and his eyes had to readjust after having one beer too many. But they were skinny, far too skinny. Greg looked down at his bony, frail hands. Fresh tears gathered in his eyes and rolled down his dry cheeks. There were also skeletons at the tables-some of them fresh, with pieces of skin and meat hanging off their bones. Others were old and brown.
As he watched, Ricky, the overweight bartender, grabbed one of the brown skeletons and stuffed it into a plastic bag. He noticed Greg watching him and waved with a grin. Then, belching, Ricky went into the kitchen. Greg wondered if Ricky ate their souls too, and shuddered at the thought.
He had a hard time remembering what had brought him here. Greg did remember that he was a respectable businessman, one to be feared if things didn't go his way. He traveled all the time, which put a strain on his marriage. His wife had assured him that she would never betray him, but of course that was a lie. One day, he had found her screwing with another man. In his horror Greg had ran back to his car and drove all night until he finally reached this bar.
At the time, Ricky had been very sympathetic. " Tell me about it, " he had said, passing Greg a drink. " Drop your burdens, as the saying goes. "
At the time, Greg had thought that sentence was odd, but didn't care. He told Ricky all his problems, and more. Eventually he told Ricky everything-his childhood, his job-every single detail. Ricky had nodded but didn't say a word. The bartender seemed to quietly suck in everything Greg had said, leaving the younger man exhausted. Finally Greg was escorted to a table. And that was the last clear memory he had.
Greg looked down at his table, which had a bowl of dusty nuts, a beer, and a golden wedding right. He slowly picked the ring up with two trembling fingers. Things were different now. He had entered the bar wanting to die, but now he wanted to live. He wanted it so badly. Once again his mouth opened and he tried to scream for a third time. Maybe if he did it loudly enough, someone would come to rescue him. Or maybe the whole bar would shatter like glass.
Ricky came over to his table. "Oh, is your beer empty? Shit, I'll get you another."
For a moment, their eyes locked and-
(drop your burdens)
Greg soon forgot what he was thinking about as Ricky forced a bottle of beer into his hands, burped, and turned away. Greg took a small sip of beer and tried to remember what he was thinking about. Maybe someday it'll come back to him.
But first he was going to have a beer or two.