August 17th, 2016

What is the purpose of life?

My knees buckled onto the ground while the rain fell upon my face, my salvation was gone. They say you're born alone in this world. In this moment here and now, looking at this grave, those words rang true. I slumped my shoulders from the weight they carried. The priest placed his hand upon me, merely adding to my burden, as he left me alone. There was no comfort here, nothing else around me mattered; neither the mourning of those around me, the sombre sky that mocked me, nor this green pasture littered with graves. In a heartbeat, I would sacrifice it all to have you back.

"Mom, are you happy?" I whispered under my breath.

My entire life had been a bizarre patch of no luck but failures. It was like a curse branded upon my chest. Not once did I make you proud, no matter how hard I tried. I did everything right, I went to school, I worked a normal job, and I never had a criminal history.

"Then why God?"

All I was left with on my tongue was if: if I had a better job, if I had known I took the wrong steps, if I could see the future.

Money was the answer to everything.

If I had it, everything would be better. It doesn't matter from where, it was a matter of how much. Then I would have been able to save you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!!" I shouted at the grave, each with more fury than the last.

"How could my life get any worse? What did I do to deserve this?" I hit my fist upon the ground, over and over until my hand bled. "I refuse to accept this, it's not fair!"

"Young man, are you okay?" a voice called.

Glancing I saw an old woman looking over at me.

"Yes," I said, under my breath.

I paused for a while, coming out of my hysteria before I straightened myself and got up to leave. Not bothered by those who had witnessed my outburst, now pointing at me like some sort of spectacle.

My mother wouldn't want to see me like this.

I turned one last time to look at the grave — here lies:

'Esmeralda Foster.'

I envisioned the last smile she had given me, in the hospital, the day before she died. It was pleasant, and it didn't seem like there was any regret. I pulled my ear as I stood there for a while, I had to believe that it was all for a reason.

Yes, she had to be happy, right?

If there is a heaven or hell, she would be the one to go to heaven. She was perfect. She was pure.

Walking back through the funeral gates, my neighbour, Ms. Glenbrook, was walking in. There was a still silence between us as we passed each other. I reached my twenty-year-old rusted white car. The Mitsubishi sign at the front was nearly fully off. Betty had seen better years, a lifetime ago. It was only when I sat there, in front of the black coverless steering wheel, and threw my rented jacket in the passenger seat, that the tears came flowing down my eyes. No attention paid to how drenched my body was.

I took my battered red Nokia phone from my pocket and rang Andrew.

"The person you called is not available right now, please leave a message after the beep," a robotic voice chided. I exhaled, tapping my free hand on the steering wheel.

"Hey Andrew, call me, it's Domenic," I said, clearing my throat.

My eyes glanced at the time in the car: ten minutes to six. It was wrong yet again. Pulling slowly out from the car park, started my wipers and turned on the temperamental radio. I was greeted with the crackle of static before it landed on Channel 191.

The loud audio chants took over my car, consuming every corner.

"We just want to live too!"

"Give us back our jobs!"

"How much more money can you possibly need!?"

I raised the volume.

"We are here on Masantone Drive, continuing to capture live coverage of the thousands of working-class citizens who have been involved in this protest outside the Mansion of Cassis. It started one month ago with only a handful of people, now that number has expanded phenomenally. We are unaware at the moment if Mr. Cassis is there. We can see, however, that the police can barely keep this crowd under control as they display their various signs and unleash their sporadic displays of violence."

My glance changed from the road to the radio as my eyebrows quirked with interest. The news did little to erase my sadness, but it was something to think about besides the woman who meant the world to me, buried in a lonely plot back at the funeral home.

"Again, Tom, this has all started with what the protesters described as excessive job exploitation, no increase in pay, failure of the government to step in, and the constant job cutting and replacement by machi---."

Static kicked in, cutting the cord on the channel.

"Dammit!" My hand hit the horn causing it to beep as I drove down the almost empty road.

"Screw you, asshole!" the man on the other side of the road yelled. As our cars passed side by side, he raised his middle finger at me.

My eyes were steadily on the road to avoid hitting the car in front of me while my hand reached in the cubbyhole. A variety of unpaid bills fell, reminding me deeply of the calls I would soon have to face. Now in my hand was the cigarette box, I drew from its content the last cigarette. I used the car lighter to get a flame before bringing it to my lips.

A grey, deadly puff filled the car. "Ahhh."

If only all my worries went away like this smoke. There was only one place that could truly comfort me now.

6 Monthaonca Bar.

***

I parked Betty a distance away from the bar. I got out smoothing down my white dress shirt which was now dry. Should I wear the jacket? The thought crossed my mind as I glanced at myself over in the mirror. My black, short hair was still sharp and complimented my ebony skin. My brown eyes, however, gave away that something was off with me. I grabbed my black shades from the car before I entered. I took a deep breath, exhaling as I opened the heavy door to the bar. The AC hit me first, then a quick reality, I barely had money to spend. Hopefully, she would work this shift.

The vibrant colours popped out at me: light green arrows on the ground pointing left and right, matching brown table and chairs, green and red circles on the walls, and red, yellow, and orange on the ceiling with flowers, both drawn and real.

Undoubtedly, because of the chaos happening further down Masantone Drive, only a few people were inside, all dressed fully in black and bearing a shady grin. I sat on my favourite, old, worn brown stool at the bar, looking at the faces of the two bartenders—she wasn't here today. There was a number 17 that hung, flashing next to the display of drinks that caught my eye, as far as I remembered, that wasn't there before.

I looked at the meaningless wedding ring on my finger. It was a sore sight that made my fragile, still-beating heart ache.

"Can I help you with something to drink, lovely?" the bartender asked, whilst her beady, coffee-brown eyes regarded me, I couldn't help but admire her peach silky skin and protruding bosom.

"Bacardi and coke," I said, coming out of my trance.

Damn, she was a fine woman. I didn't recall her working here, or the other bartender. It was almost like a whole new bar. How did they get it renovated so quickly?

The bartender smiled as she took down a glass, shovelling in the ice, bounced the rum down and splashed the coke in.

I watched the black deadly mixture come near to completion and raised my hand for her to stop.

"You're running a tab?"

"Yes," I responded.

She tapped something on the white screen behind her.

I took a sip—strong, just the way I needed it.

She smiled at me again, as she took a spot behind the bar and figited with her phone.

The gnawing at the back of my head, eating away at my mind, sent my thoughts back to what I didn't want to think about. My hand rested on my cheek. The next time I looked down at my glass, it was empty.

"Another, please," I called.

I glanced at a tall, burly man with bushy eyebrows who approached me from the side. He took a seat, as I noticed his rather glaring features. His hair was slicked back while his calloused hands rested on the table. It seemed like he was a man who worked a hard job. I noticed the strange looking ring on his wedding finger. I made brief eye contact and his eyes bored into mine.

I looked away focusing back on the bartender in front of me as she repeated the order, I took a large gulp.

She turned to the other man. "What can I get you?"

He scratched his head. "The same thing that he's having."

In between drinking, I glanced at the man again, assuming he couldn't see me with the shades on. He smiled this time as he turned his face toward me. I saw a naked, beautiful woman tattooed on his shoulder. A skull resided in her left breast as she held a child that looked dead in her hand.

"How are you doing? Do you like my Lilith, friend?"

Was he talking to me?

"I'm fine..." I said. "Do I know you?"

He laughed, "No, no, not yet, my friend. My name is Samael and don't worry about those drinks."

"What do you mean?"

"I will cover them for you, you have a lot going on, right?"

Instinctively getting up, I caused the stool to shuffle. The few inside the bar including the bartenders all stopped moving and looked in my direction.

"Look, dude, I am not into men, I can pay for my drink."

"It's not like that, man, we all need a drink, no? I felt the need to come here to talk to you. Maybe it's the energy that I get from you, but I hope that this minor moment can be the most positive thing in your day."

After I took a deep breath, I sat back down. I couldn't refuse a free drink, one that I needed more than anything right now, and my glass was empty.

Everyone seemed to return to what they were originally doing as I heard a clapping noise from a ball being pocketed.

He held a crooked smile as he looked at me before he called for another round. The rounds kept coming, and I lost count of how many I had. I couldn't tell if I was drunk or if my soul had left my body. My head was spinning, but I forgot the things that were pressing on my mind the most. I sat there, taking in the radiating colours flashing before my eyes.

He brought his drink down to the counter, and his eyes were fixated on the bar.

"Do you believe in fate, Domenic?"

"No, I never did, if there was a fate, it's against me," I said. When did I tell him my name?

He laughed. "I too have felt that way, as if life itself cheated me on what was rightfully mine," he paused for a moment, as he ran his hand through his hair. "You and I are very much alike, here."

I looked at him as he handed me something.

I held it in my hand—a green and yellow capsule that looked like a doctor's prescription tablet.

"What the hell is this?"

"A pill, that will make you see the real world when you take it, my friend, trust me."

"I don't do drugs." I fumbled to give it back to him.

He met my hand, still seated, and folded it into a shake. "Hold on to it then and only take it if you need it."

There was an uneasy silence as everyone's eyes seemed trained upon me. I nodded to him as my hand folded.

"Don't worry about the tab," he said, still sipping his drink. "Till we meet again, Domenic, enjoy your night."

"Fine," I said.

I placed the drug in my pocket and faltered to the door. Walking through the bar car park, my head was spinning and my vision was blurred. A variety of noises filled the air, the cars parking and young people's bliss as they passed me to the bar. My ears managed to overhear a bit of their conversation.

"Man, I need a drink, I don't want to think about if I may or may not have a job in two days."

"You worry too much, if you don't think about it, it can't affect you. I have had my job for five years."

That's right, the 19th is in two days, I thought as I stumbled to my car and sat down for a while. I started the engine once, but it stalled.

"Come on, Betty," I said.

A potent perfume scent took me off guard. "Hey, Domenic," a voice called to me, "it's been a while, plan to spend some money on your girl?" she asked, as she approached me.

She was scantily dressed and left little to the imagination. I can not believe that we went to the same school. She was assured to be a prodigy at our school. We all were told so, but school and real life are two different things. All seemed like meaningless lies now.

"Shal-"

"Don't call me that out here, Domenic!" she shouted.

My hands touched the wheel. "Martini, we have known each other for a long time, but I don't have any money. I am struggling to live and you know the 19th is coming up soon." I squeezed the steering wheel.

"I know, but we don't have to do anything. Just get me something to eat at least, I have a little kid." Martini said, with an expecting look.

My eyes were about to close upon me. "I can't..." I paused, looking down at my feet, "my mom is dead, I buried her today, by myself."

"Whatever Domenic, you used to be such a stand-up guy. Sorry about your mom," she said to me as she turned and walk away.

Nelson Street, the sign read. The lingering foul scent of the alley, left a noticeable trail, even here.

The key turned, and the engine roared, like an old beaten lion trying to make itself seem proud. Kicking it into gear, I drove down the road.

Glancing in my rearview mirror, Martini headed with a client to work. It was that old Haratian man that lived next door to me. Telling from her walk, however, she was uneasy.

I adjusted the radio yet again, Channel 191.

"I remind you, friends, and family, that the devil is out there - safeguard your loved ones. All it takes is one prayer to keep the demons at bay."

It was a while before I reached my apartment. I parked my car on the road opposite the flat, and then walked up the steps, maybe it was the alcohol, but I counted them in my mind 17, noticing this for the first time. I headed towards my apartment number 316, resting my key in the door. I hesitated when I heard loud noises coming from inside.

The moans of a woman. My woman, Mallory ...

"Oh god, oh god, don't stoppp..."

Smack!

"You like that, you bitch."

The old bed was shaking constantly, I heard the squeaking sound of the springs. My heart dropped, crashing to the floor.

"Andrewwww.... get the chain!"

I left and went back downstairs. The sound still resonated in my mind, but it might have just been the ringing in my ears. Just my luck, I thought, my best friend was fucking my wife.

My foot swung in the air, missing the step. My body swayed as I fell and rolled, slamming on each of the steps to the bottom. I barely covered the back of my head and blood flowed from inside my mouth.

From my awkward position on the floor, I saw the words carved roughly into the wall.

VIXI