A gentle fog of darkness lay within. There were cushioned cubicles nailed to the opposite side of the bar, drenched with silence, they enjoyed a complete lack of illumination. In one of them, a man was sitting with his head lying on the small table between the two double seats.the man's head was facing the wall.he kept still. One of his hands was stretched across the table while the other was hanging aimlessly from his torso. It was unclear if he was conscious but it seemed he has been lying there for a long time. Another cubicle was occupied, Only it's inhabitant's legs were visible, but he was definitely being supported by the corner of his cubicle, where the wooden barrier met the wall. That person did not move but seemed to be facing the middle of the club. Some of his face's contours seemed to penetrate the darkness.Somewhere there were his eyes and they were probably open, staring at empty space. A guitar player was quietly singing a song, sitting on the stage's thin tall stool. He was somewhere in his 50s, wearing a pair of ragged jeans while playing his guitar. His song was probably about his life and what he managed to learn from it or about some lost love that slipped from his fingers when he didnt know any better. Knowing nobody gave a shit, He sang to himself.
A guy, in the middle of the club was sitting on a wooden chair while his drink bubbled on the table. His gaze was focused on a coin he was fiddling with, turning it, moving it between his fingers. He was listening to the performer and knew exactly what he was about. A disillusioned guitar player and vocalist that realised he will probably never amount to anything after spendinh his entire life trying. He put the coin in his pocket, crossed his hands on the edge of the table and lay his head on them. Nobody was waiting for him, he didn't have anywhere to go, so he closed his eyes and...Just set there.
Last edited by Rumpelstiltskin on 01 Jan 2013, 06:21, edited 1 time in total.
Joined: 10 Sep 2008, 02:11 Location: In search for TheTruth (TM)
For "John" was this century's earthly incarnation of the fire lord Mephistopheles, and he was searching for another human soul to add to his collection.
The souls weren't in themselves precious; it was the story that came with each that made "John" chuckle as he twirled the little coins around his fingers. A dejected scholar, a statesman with long legs and bad teeth, a Cleveland refinery owner, and an artist with a funny mustache made the tortuous journey from the base of his thumb to the end of his little finger. Each then jumped off and was swallowed by the maw of john's jacket sleeve. Each coin had come to him from a man obsessed with power, and each man had his wish granted. Mephistopheles thought of this as he approached the man with the guitar.
"WAT," said John, "WAT IS GOIN ON."
...John's grasp of the language of the 21st century was still rudimentary at best.
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