(Jan '16) Prompt 1 - Closing Time

[Naraness]

January's first prompt is the phrase "Closing Time"



If you have any questions about how to participate in this event,
please visit the rules (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=63004) thread or PM Naraness (http://role-player.net/forum/member.php?u=24919).

Happy writing!

[Griff]

It was drizzling that early Monday morning, and combined with the fog and cold, the day was starting out terrible. Hobbling across the tiny parking lot the old woman sighed, setting down her umbrella to fetch the key from her wet coat pocket. Shakily, she raised her frail, wrinkled hands to turn the lock at the door and flip the sign to open. Bright fluorescent lights littered the outside of “Bill’s General Store” and the grating thrum of the antique generator filled the tiny establishment.


Stepping in she shook off her umbrella, and walked inside. The woman flicked on the lights and scowled at the way her creaky bones ached on every step across the cold linoleum floor. Wandering through the back of the store, she checked to make sure that the freezers and coolers were still functioning. After turning the corner into the dark back room, she was hit by a sweet smell. Quickly turning on the light, she saw the sticky neapolitan ice cream oozing out of the cracks of the large standing freezer. Swearing, the old woman limped to the fridge and opened it, trying to check and see what containers were damaged. She was unprepared for the onslaught of cream that fell from the top shelf and got in her short, white hair. It also covered her blue pinstripe blouse in pink goo.


Revolted, the woman ran to the sink behind the counter and rinsed off her hair and dropped her blouse in the water, before going around the store to grab and put on a plain discount shirt on display. The certain--”ugliness” of the shirt certainly didn’t help the woman’s figure, her sagging breasts and short stature being highlighted by the tight, thin t-shirt, proudly displaying the motto, “I Conquered the Dragon at the McGrady’s Traveling Circus!” and a painfully drawn scene of a boy riding an old-looking rollercoaster.


After walking back to the counter, she called the local maintenance company. Impatiently, she tapped the pink tinted tile of the counter while she heard the hold jingle, “Don’t Stop Believing”, by Journey, for what felt like the thousandth time. Eventually, she heard the phone click on, and a gruff, uninterested voice spoke.


“Good morning, this is Jim, from “Major Maintenance”. How can I help you?”


Disapproving of the man’s tone, she replied, “Hi. I own Bill’s General Store, down on Glenwood Drive, and my freezer broke. It made my ice cream melt all over the floor. I really need someone to fix it.”


The man sighed, “Mam’, have you turned it off and--”


Clicking her tongue the woman interrupted, “My name is Cynthia Keegan, and yes, boy, I have turned it off and on. I need someone to fix it now.” Her tone was demanding.


After a pause, he said, “Fine, someone will be there in about an hour.” The phone hung up.


Cynthia thought the man was quite rude, and proceeded to walk to the back and mop up the cream, each movement causing her hips to throb more, and make her in even a more sour mood. Soon after cleaning up the mess, she pushed the freezer away from the wall, and turned it off and back on. It stuttered back to life. “Damn.” she thought.

Looking up at the clock, she saw that it was 10:45, so she had about 50 minutes until the repairman arrived.

---

The writer stopped. Looking up, she noticed it had been thirty minutes since she started, and she realized she had forgotten what she was intending to write about in the first place. It was supposed to be an attempt to improve her descriptions, but in the process she forgot about plot. What could she write about? She had about 500 more words to fill in, what else could be added? The writer had also completely given up on grammar and word choice.

Could the end of the story just be a typical ending? Or did it need more? A love affair between the old woman and the repairman. No--that was gross. It had to incorporate closing, but that could just be added with a tacked on ending. Maybe suddenly squid take over the world and the old woman is powerless to stop the destruction. Maybe she's actually a bad ass action hero?

---

After looking at the clock a sudden darkness took over the area. A huge shadow loomed over the store. A shadow that she could make out clearly.

"They're back." Cynthia whispered ominously.

Cynthia then vaulted over the countertop, back-flipping and cartwheeling to the rack of machine guns that were on sale. Pulling her sunglasses out of her black leather cat suit, she got ready for action.

Holding two machine guns in each hand, she strutted outside to face the giant squid monster. It was currently sitting atop her store, preparing to attack.

"I guess we have to close early." The old woman said before shooting the squid in an extremely badass Schwarzenegger way.
---

The writer frowned. That was awful. Truly awful. However, it did allow the writer to cheaply add the prompt into the story, ignoring the rest of the story in the process. Because, naturally, an old woman can suddenly be in a cat suit, do backflips, and get machine guns. She would have to save that for the RPA Rumble. Writing that scene alone lowered the reading level of the entire piece. Rather disappointing. Is this at 1000 yet? I hope so, I don't want to have to write another of those. Wait--what if suddenly the fruit on sale started talking? What if the old woman freaked out?
---

Hanging up the phone, she wandered around looking for a way to waste time. The next thing she knew, she comically slipped on a banana peel.

"Ow." The banana said, with an odd British accent. Banana's weren't British?

The old woman screamed and kicked the banana across the room, it landed in the convenient display of cheap watermelons.

"Hey man, get off." The pile of watermelons said in almost perfect synch, many grumbling or moaning in pain.

"It's not my fault the old bat kicked me."

Screaming again, the old woman ran out of the store, tripping before getting in her car and driving away.

The fruits were silent in the now abandoned store.

"So," the pear in the corner spoke up, "since we've closed early, anyone want to play Parcheesi?"

---

Banging her head on the table, the writer closed her laptop and walked away, never planning to return to this again. Where would a pear get Parcheesi? They don't even have hands.

[~N~]

What an appropriate (and predictable) prompt for the New Year. Closing time. Every new beginning is some other beginning's end.

Jesus, Nara. The truth is, you weren't terrible with the writing prompts. When you took them on, we had a good run. Ten years.

Those were the days. There's nobody around now but the kids without access to virtual reality, the mutabots (bullshit programs the spam filter on these forums used to catch, but now they mutate on a nanosecond basis and nothing can keep them out anymore), and Merry. Because Merry will never leave.

But now it's all just... speech to text (because vbulletin stopped trying after that update, and never patched in support for thought-to-text) and nobody writes anything anymore. We've gone back to oral... something. (If I mention terms like "poetry," I get hit with question marks.)

Yeah... shit all just kind of went sideways after everything became holograms and dreamspace. I mean, don't get me wrong, everyone's wearing one of those goddamn headsets, but I can't confirm. Just the latest metric on the intercerebral newsfeed from a few seconds ago.

I didn't ask for it. You think about a thing and... well, see? Fucking buried in data. There it is all swirling around me and everything. You don't look shit up anymore -- it finds you. The worst are those stupid quizzes. "Which poptart are you most compatible with?" Christ.

One comes to appreciate (even long for) the days when some little teenage girl out in the middle of who knows where would put up three prompts for writing about... whatever.

Here's to your writing prompts, Nara. RPA's just a back-end, dusty old refuse center now for mutabots and a few people I'm not sure are even people anymore.

They're not terrible, the fake ones. Replaced actual human beings a while ago, and I can't say I've missed humanity that much. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure Merry is really Merry anymore. She still talks about going to Mexico on her birthday every year, still changes her sig and avi every week, or thereabouts, but surely, that's not too much for the ai's roaming what's left of the Internet these days to pick up and imitate.

You know your cultural reality has shifted when you start hearing about polygamy marriage rights for AIs and people, and the conversations you have in virtual bars are just somehow not the same when the programs are faking intoxication. Christ.

Makes one long for some kind of past that no longer exists. Maybe never did. I don't know anymore. We figured out how to put time in loops some time ago so don't ask me what year it is. Crossed the interdimensional divide, but nobody really cares about things like that when you can simply manifest yourself in twenty-six different virtual realities.

Simultaneously.

FUCK! God. Damn it. Emotes! They fucking attack you now. Jesus. Like runaway asteroids and parties popping out of your ass. I'm going to have to up the dosage on my intralobal somnumax injections.

Where was I? Oh yes, beginnings and endings. Who can tell the difference? Who cares? Coffee doesn't exist.

Yeah. Contemplate that horrific reality for a moment. You want coffee? You have to dream it up. I mean, don't get me wrong, possibilities exist for dream coffee that real coffee could never be, but bear in mind, those possibilities become nightmarish at some point. Death by coffee is an unholy thing.

And let's not talk about the Starbucks vibe. The "vibe" is a trademark term for a sociocultural collective fed by pseudespresso through an intravenous shared central nervous system. Basically they're like a commercial middle class milquetoast neo-hipster version of the Borg. There's a 90's reference from out of left field. Like the original song that Tri-Lo-Byte (one of those remote AI "music organisms" that replaced bands when they could do more than randomly assemble noises together -- though, to be honest, they were are already competitive in the Spotify charts at the point).

Already "EKO"s are being distributed along "WYSPR"s that run these linguistic thoughts through remodulation programs that transcodify these speech patterns into visual images that get sent into the minds of small children incubating inside haptic vibration chambers. Apparently the digitized melodies help to acclimatize their neural brainwave patterns into synchronicity with cybernetic uplink streams so that they can more readily function at an early age in a society where ninety-three percent of us are implanted with nanografts.

'Cept for those people out in Oregon. They're still doing their holdout thing in that wildlife refuge building. Gotta respect them on some level -- it takes all kinds of single-minded devotion to a cause to stay in a building without power for decades.

Anyways, places like RPA, these forums, they're so archaic that most of them have been put into stasis for historical study in the National Archives. Straight there. Do not go to the Smithsonian, do not get put into an exhibition that school children will send their avatars to in order to get credit for a class trip they'll never take.

Locked away on some hypo-server--which is different from a hyper-server, because the latter is basically what drives the virtual world scene, while a hypo-server is like some kind of goddamn information Hotel California.

You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.

Really makes me smile when I think of all those poor bastards who attempted to leave but just got stuck inside instead. Until they got extracted. Unplugged and nothing. Never heard from again. No goodbyes, no "I'm sorry, I need to go, I'll miss you all, it's been great, and I'll never forget you and this place changed my life and you're all like family to me."

Nope. None of that. Just gone. Disappeared into a vault wrapped inside a cold fusion black box, and sent through an intrastellar rift into Dimension X. Fuck. It's too much sometimes for me to even log in here, only catch up on the digital dust bunnies and the reassemblage of posts going back decades into some kind of washed up parody of what once was.

And then, every now and then, on a rare, beautiful occasion, they unwittingly reconstruct something just as I remember it. Something like Nara's old writing prompts...

[Kicks]

Ah yes. The first job ever. Lots of people get first jobs, some just stay moochers for life. I was one of those beautiful little things that come floating out of their cocoon and shouting to the sky for some kind of opportunity to make myself useful in capitalist America. Needless to say, I wasn't all that ready and had to work past closing time.

"Damn't." I cursed now just thinking about it. If I had known at the time just how much anxiety affected my life, my working, my... everything! I... I... I still would have tried. I still would have taken the job and made the same dumb mistakes until I was finally able to just... get into some kind of groove. Once I had a groove everything was better. Everything became better when I had a schedule, when I knew what was going to happen, what was going on. Everything was just better when I had a schedule! I didn't realize at the time that getting a job would fuck up my schedule and send me into a mental spiral!

I regretted taking the job immediately. I hadn't a car, no insurance, no money. But my parents thought it was a great thing for me to do so they lent me the race-car. It was nothing too fancy... well okay that was a lie. I thought it was a sexy beast for a sexy person! Black and sleek- practically a puma that purred.

I didn't have a phone either. Thank God I have one now! I didn't realize at the time that having a phone would have made my anxiety all the more bearable! There are just things that I have to do in order to cope with this mental fucking disease. Incurable bastard it is. A schedule was the best thing to have... and a phone for when I was alone! In the dark! Or just... alone. I hated being alone. And I hated the dark. I didn't realize just how much I hated the dark and being alone until I took the job.

I thought that maybe it would be okay. That I would be able to shake off the jitters and grow some balls! Yea! Just shake it off and deal with it! But it was so hard!

I worked a ten hour shift after school. I was the closing detail. And I hated it from day one. First of all, the people that came in late at night near closing were really creepy. Except for these hotties I once met while working as hostess. They were hot and they gave me a great tip every time. But the others were real creeps. Drunks, mainly. Or high. Fucking idiots the lot of them were. I carried mace and a pocket knife on me after some old man made a comment about me. "I'd tap that hot piece of tail." Yea no thanks, dude.

My boss didn't give a shit about his female employees either. He only hired the hot girls because it brought in better business. I hated him for that. And the fact that he stole money from his employees too. Oh yea, huge scandals everywhere in that joint. Fucking asshole. He went on the run for tax evasion and was found some place South.

Having a terrible boss from day one made it even harder for me to cope with the dark and being alone at night. I remember the first night I worked I would pass by the windows and prayed that the sun didn't set. Please don't set, don't please don't. I didn't want it to set because I didn't want to drive home in the dark. It was so scary.. .the dark... being alone...

And when it was so dark outside that I couldn't see the fast food joint across the street, I went back into the dish-pit and tried not to sob. I was having an anxiety attack my first day of work. I curled up beneath one of the tables and sat there trying to control myself.

When I did clock out that night, I went to the car and shakily got in. I didn't even make it to the local Pizza Hut before I had to pull over from seizures of absolute terror.

I somehow made it to a place where I could call my dad to pick me up. He rushed over and asked what had happened. "I just can't do it, I can't do it. I can't do it." I repeated over and over and over again.

That was not the last time I had a panic attack while on the job! Oh no! Anxiety made it impossible for me to work. Or to sleep. Because I was worried about work.

I worked as a dishwasher because some kid quit his job. And since I was the best thing that worked there, they stuck me back there. Saturday mornings were the absolute worst because of all those that came in on Friday night. I had mountains of dishes to clean. I had an anxiety attack not even an hour into work because it was too much. I couldn't do it all alone! I couldn't! It was impossible! Simply impossible! How was I supposed to do this?! And then to drive home in the dark again?!

I walked back to my boss and she took me into her office. I explained to her the anxiety disorder and she swore not to tell anyone and sent me home. Next day it turns out she was a fucking bitch and told everyone. Okay, bitch. Wait til I get a lawsuit up in here.

Unbelievable. You would think laws would prevent people from being idiots but that certainly makes no difference.

Despite that, I carried on. Months later we got a new manager for the night shift. Oh she was terrible and broke tons of OSHA laws. One time she sent me back into the dish pit to scrub mold off the bottom of the walls. Yea she gave me ammonia, bleach, and some other shit. No gloves. No mask. No ventilation in the dish pit either. I was throwing up and dizzy. My knees were all sorts of fucked up and my hands were cracked open like hell splitting through earth.

She was fired later for threatening to call CPS on a mother that brought her eight year old daughter to work. Yea... our boss put the little girl to work on the sandwich line.

But first jobs are supposed to be terrible! They're supposed to inspire you to get better jobs! To strive for better things!

[Dnafein]

It was a bar, just like any other. The fact that Jenna had never seen it before didn't change anything. James.had told her it would be perfect; And as always her twin was right.

When the limousine pulled into the parking lot her sorority sisters giggled. From the outside it looked like one of those old timey saloons from the cowboy movies James loved to watch. Once inside things looked more modern then any of them were expecting.

James and his friends had already started, based on the empty glasses before them. Jenna couldn't be angry at her twin, especially as her sisters had her drinking since she woke up.

There were strangers scattered about the bar. Jenna's eyes gave them a quick scan as she moved to join her brother. The strangers seemed split into two groups; The regulars sat scattered about, idily talking amongst themselves or quietly nursing their drinks. The other group was the new comers, folk like her who had never seen this place and were drawn in by curiosity. They too spoke among their own group pointing out the decor that caught their a Jen," James slurred when his sister reached him. "Have any trouble finding the place?"

"Only a little." Jenna answered kissing her twin's cheek. "Driver said the address was an empty lot. Guess he was wrong, don't matter. Happy birthday Jimmy."

Before James could respond both his friends and Jenna's sorority sisters roared. They yelled out those two words that are the last thing remembered by anyone on their twenty first birthday. "Birthday shots"

The twins lost track of time. Faces coming and going; Voices offering their best wishes; Friends excusing themselves or arriving late. Laughter, alcohol and music blurred together as time wore on.

This was far from the first time Jenna or her brother had gone drinking. However it was the first time she had gotten so drunk, that she felt sober. Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall after downing what her friend called a slippery nipple. Jenna coughed, not at the drink but the time. The sun was due to come up in a few minutes. Glancing around quickly Jenna started to shake her brother were he slept at the bar.

"Huh, wha-" James started.

"Get up," Jenna replied. "It's almost six. We gotta go..."

Jenna trailed off, her friends and brother looking at her confused. Their confusion lasted only til they heard the click of the door locking.

"Hey!" James shouted, while turning to the bartender. "What's the big idea?"

The man smiled a cold smile. His eyes never left the glass he was cleaning. "Don't you know?" He asked.

"Know what?" Jenna responded, her voice quivering.

The bartender set the glass down. His smile widened, in fact it looked unnaturally wide as he looked up at the gathered party goers. Most of his face was hidden by a shadow, only his smile which seemed to only grow bigger with every passing second was unobstructed.

His unnaturally large mouth opened revealing long pointed teeth and a forked tongue as he answered Jenna's. "It's closing time."

[Notty]

“It's about that time!” a husky voice called out, the lights of the tavern dimming slightly as they always did near closing time. Perhaps it was supposed to be some sort of clue to those who were too drunk to hear the announcement, or maybe it was because they finally kicked off that awful karaoke machine that sucked up so much power.

Rick's Tavern had been a place that I had frequented, no...no. I did more than frequent that place. I was a regular. The usuals knew not to sit in my spot, and the newcomers, well they quickly learned to leave me be when I came in.

The place had a grungy feel about it, as I assumed most bars did. I had never really been in one before, just Rick's. Dimly lit, floors that always seemed dirty, no matter how many times they had been swept or mopped. Walls that were plastered with posters of bands and former rock stars from at least twenty years ago. Horrible music. Though I guess that didn't matter either if you were drunk.

So, me? Why am I here? That's a good question. One that I've been asking myself for many years. The very first time I came in, it was by accident. No. No. That's not quite true either. It was because of an accident that I stumbled in here for the first time.

It had actually been one of the best nights of my life. It was the night that I had told him I loved him. The night I told him that I loved him. Yeah, he was my first boyfriend. My first serious one. The one I took home to meet my parents. The one who drove me crazy with the stupid pet names he called me, and eventually, the one I married.

Hard to believe how long ago that was. Shifting in the seat, my pale blue eyes scanned the thinning crowd of the Tavern. It was always like this. The newer ones leaving when the announcement was made. The others, the more seasoned patrons, knew that this didn't exactly mean closing time.

I shifted in my seat, my eyes scanning the crowd once more, and my thumb brushed against the ring on my left hand. It seemed worn, old and thin, much like I felt these days. I had heard it put once that this feeling was like “butter being scraped over too much bread.” You just felt...worn.

“You ready?” a voice called out in my direction.

Shaking my head, I scooted back a little further in my booth, not ready to come out and face the world. I hadn't faced the world in a long time. Not since the first night I came here.

Why do I keep mentioning it, you may ask?

It was the night that changed my life. We had been happy, for a long time we had been happy. Then, the worst night of my life happened. He and I had been out on the town together, just for dinner and a movie. We were walking hand in hand, my heels clicking against the sidewalk, his coat draped over my shoulders. I could even remember the color of his shirt. It was red.

No...that was the blood. There had been so much blood...

A stray bullet from a gang fight the next block over hit him. Right outside Rick's Tavern. There had been no warning, no way that we could have known this was to happen. He just suddenly went...limp. I screamed. My hands moved over his chest, trying desperately to stop the bleeding as I screamed for someone to help me. So many people ran out. So many tried to help. But by the time the ambulance had arrived, there was no use. He was gone. He had been for several minutes.

By the time they took him, I was...empty. I stumbled into the tavern and searched for a bathroom. There, I stayed for an hour. Scrubbing at my arms, my hands, my dress. But the blood never did seem to come off.

Shuffling out, I sat down in this booth. “Anything you've got that will make me forget.” is what I told the bartender. “Anything that will make me forget.”

I tried to forget. For years I would come in here every night, sit down at that booth, and repeat those words over and over. “anything to make me forget.”

Now, I couldn't forget. It was as if the drink had engraved it on my mind.

Why would I come back to such a place? Why would I come back to the very place my husband was shot down? Where I carried his blood on my hands and on my dress?

The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure why I came back. It was as if...my life was a record that had a scratch, and I just kept coming back to that same spot, over and over and over. Nothing I could do seemed to change that.

But somehow....today seemed different. There was something different. The voices seemed different. And...and my drink didn't taste like it usually did. I took another swallow, and this time grimaced. “What is this poison?” I called out, throwing my glass across the room, only to shatter into a million pieces.

Then my vision got foggy. I shook my head. No, this had never happened before. What was happening? I did this every night. I had done this every night. This had never happened.

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Closing time...” a voice called out.

No. No. That was the wrong voice. Why was it the wrong voice. This time, I tried to lean up, to look over to the bar to see who it was that kept saying it. But....I couldn't move. I tried again, and again, and even a third time, but I couldn't budge. My heart began to pound, and I felt as though I would be sick. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

“All's well, she came out quite well, though she did have a bit of a strange spike there at the end, it was probably the anesthesia causing some dreams. That happens quite often.”

My husband nodded and looked over to me. My head was wrapped in gaze, hair shaved, tubes coming out of my arms and mouth. “But she's alive, and she will pull through. You got her here just in time. I thought we were going to lose her there at closing time....”

[m139]

Closing Time

I always look forward to the first of the month. For one thing, it brings new writing prompts. To me, it is exciting to see the new words, come up with a something for a story, or a memoir, or something, then rush to write something actually worth posting.

And so it was the same with this month. There was a little bit of waiting, which only heightened my anticipation, and then, BAM!- there were the three new words.

Let's see... The Other Side- that's the name of that nasty song, right? I can do something with it though... probably something having to do with walls.

Renegade... My vocabulary must be horrible, I don't know what that means. Let me pop it into Google. Ah, here it is, "someone who deserts their cause." Easy enough, I guess. I'll figure out a plot later

And finally... Closing Time. Closing time? This reminds me of my first job, way back when...

It was a strange job, really. I had been hired by a friend, who had been hired by some professional friend. The original guy, who I never met, was some physiologist, I think. Maybe he was a philosopher. Actually, I am pretty sure he was a philosopher. But I can't be absolutely certain, as it was some time ago and, as I said, I never met him. All I knew of him was that he had achieved the title of Doctor and that he was writing a book.

It was this book that concerned us. You see, it was going to get published rather soon, and my friend had been hired to check the citations within the book and make sure the quotes were correct. As for myself, and one other person who agreed to help, our job was to help him get these books so that he could check them to see what the quote really was and how they were quoted.

My friend who hired us did all of the pre-work. He figured out which libraries the books were in, and when they were open. Since most of the books were pretty scarce, their were a few stops we would make. The first was at the professor's office. The next two were at two different universities.

The first day we did this, the task was fairly easy. We picked up the books, then went to the campus. At first, we went to the wrong library. Luckily, the people there were helpful, and directed us to the other library across campus. We drove around, and parked in a metered space, and, after emptying our pockets of quarters, went inside. Once we were there, all the books were pretty easy to find. The only bad thing was that their were so many corrections and mistakes, that we would have to put off our trip to the second university for another day.

The second day was much more interesting. It was a Saturday, but I happened to have a certification test, and so, my friend dropped me off there first, before continuing to the university. When I called for him to pick me up, about an hour early that expected (for I had finished the multiple choice section quickly), he came and picked me up and brought me to the university.

This time, the task was a bit harder, but in a different way. There were two libraries on this campus, but most of the books were in the main library. Still, as long as we were careful to read the location, we would know where to go. For most of this time, though, I ended up helping my editing friend with corrections themselves. There was such a wide variety of books- here was one talking of one of Achilles' emotions. Here were a couple of Nietzsche books. Here was one by C.S. Lewis. Here was one that had a lot of Greek in it.

Ah, copying those Greek letters. My handwriting is bad, at best, but at least I can copy symbols. Can't tell you what they mean, but I did take such care to copy them, because I'm sure somebody who knew Greek might read this book, someday.

But anyways, I was busily copying all these down, when the friend who was looking for books asked for my help.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Oh, I can't find these book." he responded.

I looked at the list. There were a couple of books left. I looked for the first one, but could not find it, so we asked the librarian. She helped, and we soon had it. I was able to find most of the other ones. Most were just a little off from the shelf they were supposed to be on, and one was in the other library. Soon, we were down to one book.

I was called Closing Time, and was by a Nancy someone, I cannot remember the actual last name. I remember looking for it in the system, finding the decimal number, taking the elevator on the old side of the building up (although it was one of those old elevators with the outside door and then the screen, it clunked less than the newer elevators on the other side of the building), and finding the spot on the shelf where it should have been.

I looked left of that spot, and I looked right. I looked up and I looked down. I even looked behind a couple of books. But there was nothing there. I could not find the book itself, but, strangely enough, since I had seen the books beside it and read the card catalog entry, I discovered it was about some element of James Joyce's writing. I do not remember exactly what, though.

But back to the point. We eventually had to ask the librarian, who went with us to that dusty part of the old library and could not find it as well. She looked in the return books. It was not there either. Finally, she admitted defeat, and asked us to fill out a little card so that they would know the book was not in its place and could notify us if it was found.

The two of us smiled at each other as we filled out the little card and used our friend's email address, which was, well, not one from this school. And then we went to go tell him of our defeat.

He was not too upset though. In fact, he really was not upset at all. We had found most of the books, saved him a lot of time, and he was about done with this project. We helped him finish up the last of the books he had opened in front of him, and then we left the university and went out for pizza. Our task was done, and, when the time came, I was paid for my work.

Still, I sometimes think of that book, Closing Time. I wonder if they ever found it. I really doubt they did. I am pretty sure my friend never got a copy of it, or of some of the older books that the philosopher acknowledged it would be hard to find a copy of. I wonder if this quotes were ever fixed before the publication. I doubt they were. Yet, the book was published anyway.

Which leads to the question...

Was our work really done?

Did we really finish?

Or did we just go through a closing time, and now will begin a new attempt of the same things over again?



... ahh, philosophy.

[Kris]

Another costumer? and so late at night?

I poured the usual and let it slide along the rail. He stopped the glass with his right hand and then looked into it.

"Not gonna drink?"

"Not today".

Weirdo. I got tons of them each day, but he is the first to appear so late. Welcome to the Tavern at the end of the nowhere road. We get tons of people here. From all... Spaces... and times... Some of them are even human...ish...

And we aim to serve.

Apparently we do something good here because they keep coming. Either for a drink or for a talk. I wanted to close early today, you know... clean my head and actually do something that was not work related.

But fate decided against my plans... and as always the guests are first before our needs (In order to preserve the intergalactic peace and what not). By the cloths and attire I realized he was coming from the late 19th century. Well, at least he was human.

"Where's your temporal?", I asked as I cleaned the glasses.

"Outside, wanted to breathe some fresh air"

"I see". I decided not to ask further.

Temporal, in case you didn't know, are beings with abilities to travel through time. They are however limited to their own dimension. The ability by itself is rather rad regardless. That of course meant that people from the past coming here, can only be people from our own timeline.

At least this one was human.

"Policeman?", I asked.

He nodded.

"Traveled long?"

He nodded again.

Usually officers use Temporals to go back in time and stop criminals that wish to alter the past for their own gain. It usually involves kidnapping such gifted individuals to do so.

"I am keeping you here aren't I?"

"Noooo", I faked a smile, but he grinned back at me.

"It's okay, I know it's closing time and I don't plan on drinking... keeping you here extra hour seems indecent"

"Stay!", I ordered him with a firm tune. I don't know what took over me. Maybe it was his beat up, dead expression, or the fact he just really looked like he wished to clear up his mind somehow. I really wanted to ask him more about his recent case but decided against it. He just looked like he wanted some kind of an escape from this world. Even if it was for a short while.

I decided to let him be.

"We lost... her sister", he said at last after a long pause.

"She was a Temporal too?"

He nodded. And then drank the cup empty.

I licked my lips as I looked at the door, as if waiting for his partner to enter. When she didn't I just filled another glass and sent it flying his way.

Again he just stared and I found myself organizing the chairs and cleaning the tables. It was a long day and I was tired, and yet... as much as I looked back and forth at the clock hanged on the wall I couldn't bring myself to tell him to leave.

He was in his own world now. He and the glass. A world where his own doubts and regards tormented him enough without my constant nagging at him to go home. And what about the partner outside? I could hardly even start to guess what was going on with her.

Losing her sister in said mission. Losing her trust in her partner capability to do good and protect. And the worst thing was that she was bound to him.

You see Temporals need to store energy for few days in order to use their abilities. There is another way to hasten said ability and that is... well... intercourse.

More than partners to solve crimes, they are probably acting as a couple... but they are probably damaged beyond repaired now and he knows it. Yet as a cop he must force her to working... that's her fate... all the Temporals fate in fact... They can't be considered to be and do anything but this line of work.

"He kidnapped her... used her... raped her... and I let her die", he said while drinking another cup.

I licked my lips again, my curiosity taking the worse in me. I found myself yet again behind the stall cleaning another glass and sending it his way.

Another hour passed and he was silent as a mouse.

I cursed.

I wanted to go home. Take a long refreshing bath and forget this day. I had my full share of murderers and raping stories... and yet... this one... of a sister turned to be used as a tool... that was the best story of the day. And what am for if not hearing their tales? After all, I am the local console ale maid.

"Case 9987", he said at last, "Stopping a simple burglary. The man Alfredo Goruory. Said to have taken a hold of a local Temporal. Simple get in, free the girl and stop him from changing a will saved in a safe. The woman was so badly beaten when we found her it was almost hard to make out her face... but she recognize her.... She screamed. I lost him for a moment... hit her instead... she fell... dead... Another bullet and I killed him. I changed the past so badly I'm probably going to sit long for this... but her...".

He lifted the glass and was about to drink it when a soft hand stopped him. His partner took me by a surprise, entering the place like a ghost.

"That's enough", she said slowly and kissed him on his cheek, "we need to go...".

He rushed outside, still too afraid to face his partner, leaving me alone with her, "I'm sorry for this. He won't lose his job or-"

"I don't think that's what he worries about"

She smiled, "He won't lose me either... I think", she tossed me few coins.

"Keep it", I told her and I watched her nodding softly.

"Sorry for keeping you here...".

Her eyes thanked me. For being able to give him something she couldn't. A piece of heaven in a local tavern at the end of nowhere, lost to space and time.