Last Call
Flash fiction, 700 words. For IAM's Sept. 18 prompt.
Each time the woman’s stiletto heels touched the shining parquet, Ed’s heart skipped a beat. He’d have a heart attack if she didn’t sit down soon.
She paused at the bar, just a few stools from him. Her lips and nails were red, red as the morning and her black dress was the frock of night. He liked that. He wrote it down in his notebook.
“Welcome to the Bar at the End of the World,” said the bartender, though Bar at the End of the Staten Island Rail Terminal would have been less dramatic. Though not, in Ed’s estimation, more accurate. “What’ll it be?”
“An Aviation,” she purred. Oh, how she slithered in that black sheath as she rested on hip against a stool.
The bartender didn’t have Crème de Violette. Negotiations ensued. Ed didn’t hear what she ended up with, but it was pale pink with a cherry skewer.
“What brings you here?” he asked after she’d taken a few sips. She wasn’t dressed for a cookout or a day at the zoo.
“The train,” she said with a coquettish look, perhaps with a hint of irritation.
“I was just wondering if there was going to be a party here,” Ed stuttered. He held up his notebook. “It’s always quiet, so I do my journaling in the afternoons, but …”
She stared at him. “Journaling? Today?”
“It’s not exactly a lost art.”
“But who’s going to read it?”
Ed shrugged. “Who’d want to? I’m Ed DiMarco, by the way. Not Sam Pepys.”
He held out his hand. She gave a bemused smile at the reference but slipped her slender fingers against his palm, just for a second. Ed’s chest burned. Maybe today would be the big one. Well, of course it would be. Wasn’t going to be any other day.
“There’s no party,” she muttered. “I just wanted to wear my Sunday best.”
“Those aren’t church clothes, lady.”
“Well, this isn’t church.” She smiled again, this time at the bartender. “Thanks for the double.”
“On the house,” he said. The bar had no screens – maybe the only place in the city that didn’t, at this point – but a portable radio crackled in the corner. Nothing coherent came through, but Ed liked to know that someone was still broadcasting, like the string quartet on the Titanic.
“Amanda,” she said.
“Wayne,” said the bartender. “But my friends call me Bruce.”
“No, they don’t,” Ed laughed. Wayne winked and stacked some glasses.
“I’m surprised the train was running,” Wayne said after the air had become too thick with silence.
“I’m surprised the bar is open,” Amanda replied.
“Well, we’d all agreed,” Ed reminded them cheerfully. “Everyone. The world doesn’t stop until it does.”
“Then why aren’t you working?”
“It’s my day off.”
“Well, you don’t have any family?”
“They’re all on Mars. Or nearly there.” He checked his watch. “Halfway there.”
Amanda paused. “Why aren’t you, then?”
“I have five kids. I gave up my berth so they could all go.”
“That’s such a stupid rule.”
“Something about genetic diversity. I heard it only affects maybe 1 percent of the population anyway,” Ed said. “I’d say it’s just my bad luck, but I don’t feel especially unlucky.”
“I didn’t want to go,” Amanda said. “You could’ve had mine.”
“They wouldn’t let me go,” Wayne shrugged. “Too old.”
“It’s getting brighter.” Amanda turned on her stool and looked out the large, conservatory-style French windows in the back of the bar.
“I hope Mars is far enough,” Wayne murmured.
“The Moon would have been far enough, they were saying.”
“I don’t trust that. I don’t trust that at all. Damn sun superstorm.”
“Maybe it won’t even happen,” Amanda interjected impishly.
“It’s getting brighter.” Ed noticed what she’d seen moments before.
Three things happened at once. Amanda finished her drink by pursing the cherry against her red lips. Ed’s heart skipped and didn’t beat again. The radio hissed, sparked, and fell silent.
The sky brightened and flamed far above the bar, at the end of the world.
That ending gave me goosebumps! Great visuals!!
This is awesome!