Refuge

My Refuge

As the night was soon coming to an end and the sun only hours to make its debut, I decided one last Tavern to venture to drown my sorrows of mine own creation. The double doors were well worn from many weary travelers entering the same sad end. Once the doors open the bar was dimly lit with perhaps six customers slumped over their drinks at the bar. The bar was old and wooden with bartender sitting on the chair behind the bar. He looked to have the energy of a sloth. Only one head turned to look at me as I entered. Even that look was one of despair. I question my self why I even enter a place like this but persevered to a bar stool. The bartender slowly got up to ask what I was having? My mind raced as to what the perfect concoction would do the trick for my depression. Finally, I said whisky straight up. As I sipped on my drink thinking of what had all transpire that day in my life, I began to drink more and asked for another. You see I was a successful writer on one book only. All subsequent endeavors were failures. All the rejections had taken their toll on my soul. I began to look at the other patrons and they all look to have been rejected in some way or another. One patron fascinated me the most. He was dressed a little better from the rest. Meaning less wrinkles and not unbathed. He was next to me, so I asked him, “What brings you here at this hour?”

He turned his slowly and responded, “What brings you here at this fucking hour.”

Fair question so I responded, “Failure.”

This stranger turned slowly from his drink and looked at me through his blood shot eyes and said, “You are only a failure if you see and feel you’re a failure. Personally, I’m just a drunk and liked to be left alone to my drink and eventual end. I pray you will honor my wishes and shut up.”

I accepted his comment and remained quit. But then I thought about the few words he said. I again looked at my surroundings and questioned myself. Was I really such a failure? Had I just truly given up? Was my life over? Why did come here...? Was it just self-pity? I downed my drink and gave a generous tip to the bartender and proceeded to exit the bar. But before I got to the door a voice yelled out from the man I talked to, “Where the fuck is you going. Was it something I said?”

I took a long hard look at the man and said, “No. It was a culmination of the realization of defeatism and hope of something better.”

The man at the bar just turned to his drink and mumbled, “He won’t make it.”