Reflections

The intern for Mr Wilson’s law firm had been on his way home, when a crinkled envelope flew into his face with a heavy gust of wind. Lifting the envelope to his eyes, the intern examined the cursive lettering and seal. He recognised it in an instance. He stuffed it into his coat pocket and continued home, his steps quicker than before.

The intern made it home and pulled out the envelope. It was not addressed, although he knew it was for him. He heard that the letters always arrived with a purpose, and always to its intended guest. He peeled back the seal and found the letter.

The Witching Hour.

Left, 3 streets, first right.

Carpe Noctem.

The letter did not disclose any more information, but it was enough. It was enough.

It wasn’t until the next day that the intern decided to actually use the letter. He kept it hidden away in the depths of his bag through the work day, continuing his learning under Mr Wilson. He was asked a few times if he was feeling ok. He replied with a ‘yes, I am’, although he felt excitement bubbling up inside him and had been acting skittish all day. He felt like he was on the edge, ready to take the plunge, ready to jump, but it wasn’t the end of the day yet. He couldn’t jump.

It was quiet by the time the intern left work at his usual time, the sky already dark and the streets already bare. He rushed home, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He skipped a couple of steps until he reached his door and fished out his keys. He was quick, stripping off his trousers and blazer for jeans and a Jacket. He left his work shirt on. It would be hidden underneath the jacket, anyway.

He stood outside his building. He turned left from his home, walked for 3 streets then took the first right. There was a narrow alley, and the intern could feel the dampness in the air. He didn’t question how the directions were made eerily specific for him. He slid his feet across the floor, feeling the cold apools of water start to seep into his shoes. He saw a crack of light from the end, and sprinted towards it, his heart racing with him. His hands roamed the wall which was coated with moss. The intern nearly pulled his hands back in disgust. He ignored the slimy feeling and continued to search. He felt something that felt like a flat bar of metal and pulled.

The light blinded him. Beyond the brick door was a room surrounded with metal walls. After his eyes adjusted to the blazing light, the intern waltzed into the room, shutting the door behind him. It closed with a loud clang. He walked about the room, and found it completely empty. Pushing against the walls again, one shifted, until it fell backwards, underneath his weight. It pushed back to reveal a set of steps, barely illuminated by a dim, plum coloured light.

The intern could hear clinking of glasses and distant chatter. He began his descent down the stairs.

The room was filled with a vermillion hue, just light enough to see other faces, but not enough to see what they were drinking. Music was playing on a low volume, but the intern could not make out the song. There were long, cream velvet chairs that would easily fit two people in each, but a small enough space to consider it intimate.

He leaned on the bar top, and the bartender slid over to him. The intern could not make out his eye or hair colour, everything and everyone becoming a blur of reds and pinks. He could, however, see the slicked hair and smudged eyeliner.

Before the intern could ask about a drink, the bartender held up his hand and got to work. The intern watched with a close eye. It was a delicate display. The bartender was almost tender with the way he poured and mixed, and even performed a few tricks for the group of young women at the other end. They giggled and applauded, and the bartender winked before moving back towards the intern, and pouring the concoction into a tall, thin glass. It was a murky pink, with flakes of shimmering gold floating through the liquid. It looked to be a thick, milky texture. The intern stared at the drink, then back at the bartender, and raised his brow. The bartender smirked.

“Trust me; it’s the drink for you. Everything here tonight, is meant for you.”

“But... What is it?” The intern peered into the pink abyss, but the bartender had already turned away to serve another customer.

The drink was swirling, the golden flakes becoming a whirlwind. He took a hesitant sip, letting it swirl in his mouth. As far as drinks went, it was decent. It tasted similar to a strawberry daiquiri with a hint of mango and some other exotic fruit. He let it slide down his throat. Then the room started spinning. As the drink settled inside him, he felt like his senses had burgeoned. He took another sip, and then another, and another. Each sip seemed to taste better than the last. It started to taste like warm butterscotch, with the sweetness of honey and bitter twang of a smoky whiskey. He started gulping it down like water, and set it down on the counter when he had finished. He wiped the back of his mouth, and the intern flagged down the bartender.

Again, the bartender seemed to know what he was going to ask.

“You won’t need another one.”

He disappeared again. The intern shrugged, feeling content to just stand by the counter, and watched the other customers. They were talking in hushed voices, sultry looks being passed across the room and hands inching closer to each other. Some people were in a corner, laughing and blowing blue smoke from their painted lips, golden cigarettes hanging from their fingertips.

The intern tilted his head. He had never seen blue smoke before. As the women breathed in and blew out the smoke, it took on moving shapes. There was a creature crawling through a wood, a couple sharing a kiss, and a boat sailing across the ocean. He found a bowl on one of the tables, filled with the golden sticks and put one in his mouth. He choked on the first go, small puffs of baby blue coming out. Then he tried again, and his smoke floated into the air. The smoke swirled until it created the imitation of a bird soaring through the sky. The intern chortled.

He took another breath and blew out, and the smoke showed a man leaving a building, heading towards someone, a silhouette of a woman with her long hair flowing. He could hear a whisper, the woman calling out to him.

“James…”

He heard a burst of giggles and turned around to see the group of women chatting away with the bartender. He noticed next to the bar was a door to a terrace, and put out the golden stick and strolled outside.

The crisp night air was silent. He couldn’t hear any of the chatter. The stars blinked at him, and he blinked back. He sat down on the pristine white bench, and closed his eyes. He was starting to feel drowsy, and the singing of night critters seemed like the perfect lullaby to drift off to.