The Ones Among Us

Norah Kellogg.10 The Ones Among Us...

Pouring a generous amount of liqueur. I slid it over, watching its golden brown consistency spin into syrup. Reflecting swirls of light, the glass glistened and shone little light into Neon Lights, a dive bar near a semi-busy town, whose doors were open 24/7.

Taking later night shifts, I often worked till 5 pm, having 11 hours of stand-around time, sweeping thin layers of dust on deep stained-brown countertops along with thick jug-sized glasses. Cleaning brought a new gleam of things, claiming my unbuzzled nerves.

Releasing a sigh, I began organizing the shelves. Kicking my backpack briefly, its contents skidded across rickety wooden planks. Notecards flew everywhere, and I picked them up two at a time. Scribbles matching unshapen words airly swayed over each pencil mark. Finishing my last year of Communications and still, I couldn’t get everything sorted out. I ruffled my shaggy hair in a curly-loose ponytail.

Tangles hid dark swollen circles that bore into rectangular lined whites. My appearance fully matched every stereotype of a college student. Shrugging my shoulders, I ran through my presentation once again. The topic was simple: someone you look up to who has a noticeable status online. A quick Google search was in order.

I never bothered myself with things of such a sort. The drama of celebrities overwhelmed me, leaving me with a killer headache. That and the power they held, all that recognition was terrifying. I wasn’t one to be around too many people. So something to that extent seemed like hell to pay. Quite frankly, I had a handful of friends, but with school and all, our time was getting thin.

Flipping through my notes, I mumbled each sentence, trying to shove some confidence down my throat, clicking a ball pen. My surroundings stayed inside a little box, glasses and counters around me for comfort. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, looking busy and bothered hopefully they would leave me be.

One of my closest friends said it would be a good idea to search for a job. Help with the funds right? It made sense of course, but maybe it was a bad idea? After all, I was the one having to deal with drunken idiots dancing on top of tables. I don’t know but it bothered me. They’d chug drinks down till sunrise, talking to whomever would listen, with fumbling hands and stuttered words.

They all acted so freely. I hated people with a passion that drove them to do whatever they wanted. It was annoying even though I could easily tell some asshole to stop when needed. It was the bar’s rules. Can’t change them. But the idea of an hour-long presentation on some stupid celebrity, that might I add, no one in this class cared about was was terrible.

I jumped at the sound of a tinkling bell, small in size. “Oh, hello what would you like-” I instantly dropped my pen and reached for the closest glass. “Sir?” He had a brown trench coat tied in a lovely knot and greasy blonde hair settled a little over his shoulders. The air thickened in his presence.

Each of our customers flinched as the man scooted next to me. The black leather and silver chairs screeched at each turn. The man sat on one of many stools.

“I’ll take a cocktail, please.” Nodding my head repeatedly, I threw in whatever ingredients fit. I looked at him from the corner of my eye; he looked disheveled, without a care about his apparent injuries.

Describing him, at best , only one word came to mind: off. Everyone knew he probably killed somebody before he showed up here. Black and gray, smoldering smoke adhered to his cheekbones. The bold color booped his nose then dipped it in shine. Previous forehead wrinkles upturned, showing his natural skin tone. He had clearly been caught in a fire.

Feeling that tug of release, needing to ask him, I bit on my lip worried about the outcomes. Passing him his drink with shaky hands, he said, “Thank you.” Fastened to a button, his sleeves looked like they could fall off. Burned like brownish rust, cracks within sturdy material faltered. One of the odd man’s sleeves was seared, torn up to his forearm, leaving a frazzled stub of fabric.

My eyebrows furrowed at the sight. Openly warm, his left arm was blistered , creating a raw crispness with settled smoke as company. Nerves probably boiled, it shook in pain. Both hands gripped his drink, yet still being unbalanced, he twirled it as he hummed a few notes.

“Hm, hey. So eh… can I ask you a question?” .

. I knew this man for roughly two hours and a half and yet I knew him more than most. A man of forgotten dreams, lost promises, and a corpse by the time he leaves. This is the story of the forgotten for the forgotten. . “Um, ok? Sure.” Removing my attention from his blank empty expression, I continued to clean the counter. I wiped the area where remnants reamined from the customers who had leaked out the door. This “party crashing” mood was being ruined by this plate full of baggage or the smell of burning, blistering flesh.

He stared deeply into his drink. A frown wrapped his darkened face, leaving marks. “A story”

“W-What”

“I would like to tell you a story. My story… would that be ok?” Despite his monotone voice, I felt a hint of pain layered thickly inside him.

“I don’t see why not?” It wasn’t bizarre to see a man gulping his sorrows. Glancing at the clock I couldn’t help but frown. Even though the talkers are usually long gone by now and I still had a few hours to study, so this better not take long. . Their blood is used as fuel —*

. You could say I was a bold child. I knew I was smart. At age five I’d learned briefly about science and space. . Pluto was a nickname my mother gave me. I told her I’d be the first one up there staring down at all the little people, other planets, and mediators as well. It ultimately fascinated me. I mean, could you blame me!? Only that long ago we took our first steps on Mars. Nothing besides the moon landing in 1969 and some lousy aircraft orbiting completely connected our technology up until the early 28

2090’s. . Ah, 2100 sure was a year… SOAR broke into some savings finally. All that technology at their fingertips. Oh, I could only imagine. Research was booming, just about everyday we would learn something new: opened black holes leading to 2nd universes, frozen rock somehow once an eon ago holding water.

All of this was a basic fact nowadays, but not too long ago it was mind-boggling! Most called it the year of space which compared to today would seem true. Funding became scarce after livability showed up on Mars. One of our toughest accomplishments really. The public packed their bags and left. Government funds plummeted staggeringly. And just like before they sucked all the passion out of it.

Mars turned into a father’s dream vacation. SOAR, as you know, still built rockets. Far more than years before. They hardly went by with scrapes of high-quality tightly fitting metals. The public was using rockets like a second train station, for heaven’s sake!

But it all shut down right before it got good. With their upcoming money problem and for reasons unknown, it all turned off. A theory in the making. Why did this norm of science discontinue? Astronauts were still able to use everything freely. SOAR blurred all communication with the public. Just a news anchor once and while repeating an unlikely discovery or another trip across the milky way.

It was rushed and messily done like they didn’t have time. Like something bad would have happened if everyone didn’t leave Mars. It felt heartbreaking to think about but, nonetheless, it was intriguing…

So at the sparkling age of eleven, I got to work. I was driven by the government’s emptiness. I became mad –entirely bonkers! I started my research, my own discoveries. Locked just beyond the skyline, the stars became my friends. Well that and my telescope… . Passion equals obsession—* . The stakes of it all piled together, higher and higher, with each new draft of information. . It was all fun and games, till I finally realized what in particular I was messing with. . What my hands were dirted in.