Categories > Original > Sci-Fi > P.O.D.

Eight

by fruit_addict 2 Reviews

Joe finds out how to defeat their enemy but does he have a drinking problem?

Category: Sci-Fi - Rating: G - Genres: Sci-fi - Characters:  - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2007/02/19 - Updated: 2007/10/15 - 650 words - Complete

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Entering the bar Joe was instantly greeted by the bartender who came out from behind the counter to shake his hand.

“You’re back! So nice to see you again,” the bartender excitedly said shaking Joes hand vigorously.

Murmurs spread around the bar as, slowly, people took in the silver stripe and gadget on his wrist.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked Joe with a welcoming smile.

“Something strong. Really strong,” Joe said looking gloomily down at the counter, hanging his head.

“Of course,” the bartender walked behind the counter and started mixing a drink. “You must be a seasoned drinker to want something like this,” he said trying to start a conversation.

Joe shrugged, not complying.

The bartender handed Joe a drink that swirled in a neon rainbow then sighed and leaned toward Joe. “What’s happenin’? Talk, that’s what a bar’s for.”

Joe took a sip of the drink and swallowed hard. His eyes watered and he took a quick breath in. Then he began to speak. “It’s just, one day you’re worried about school and marks, having nightmares about your older brother and the next you’re worried about staying alive and having sleepless nights with the weight of the world on your shoulders. It just doesn’t seem fair. I mean why was it me that ended up with this stupid gadget?”

“Maybe it was fate, because you can help others better than anybody else. You care for people, I can tell,” the bartender suggested trying to console Joe.

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled as he downed the rest of his drink. He pushed his glass forward for the bartender to fill. He chugged down the refilled glass and the bartender filled it again.

Many people approached him but he just shrugged them off, worried about the coming danger, until a certain short man walked up behind him. He started discussing the different hunting trips that he’d been on. Joe ignored him at first until he came to an interesting point in his story.

“Some creatures just can’t be killed. Too hard a shell or thick skinned. But I found a way around that,” the old man said proudly.

Joe looked up swallowing down yet another strong glass of alcohol. He stared the man down waiting for him to continue.

“You have to hit them on their underside, the stomach, right in the middle.” As he said this he pointed to a point on his stomach. “It’s weaker there so you can penetrate it.”

Joe nodded and said, “That’s some great advice,” he swallowed down the last of the drink he was working on. He looked down at his wrist to check the time then, realizing that he didn’t have a watch, stood up to leave. He swaggered, caught him self on his stool then left the bar.

When he got to the hotel Joe rode the elevator up the forty-two floors to his room. He quietly opened the door and slipped in. He saw that the others were already asleep in their clouds. How long was I gone? He thought to himself. That was the last thing he remembered because after that he passed out, still dressed, right there on the floor.

The next morning Joe slowly opened his eyes and a piercing pain shot through his head. I guess I had a little too much to drink last night. He thought. He noticed his hat wasn’t on and looked around for it. He grabbed it off the floor two feet from his head and got up with a groan. Sleeping on the floor didn’t do his body any good. His muscles were sore and on top of that he felt nauseous. He grabbed a mug of coffee for his hangover, even though he knew it didn’t really help, then left the room.
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