Weary Traveler

Mitch marched beneath the neon glow of Twilight District, body shivering from the icy chill of snow falling out of the cloud of smog. His authentic, wool coat added an extra burden, weighed him down further so that his slick, ebony dress shoes left a deep indent in the white powder collecting on the ground.

His senses diminished since his last visit to the Twilight. Corpo body weakened from the lavish comfort and ease of his executive life living in a villa on the outskirts of Rotech District on the edge of the Rosenfell River.

He gazed through the blanket of falling snow, froze in his tracks at the sight of his destination. His erratic heart skipped beats and jumped into his throat, fought a battle for supremacy against his Adam’s apple, duking it out for the breath of life or the flow of warm blood through his veins.

The distant thump of electro-jazz wavered through the air, crawled into the ears of nomads and bums shuffling through the wintry street, pulled them into its melodic grasp like sticky musical tethers.

He swaggered towards the saloon with a wide grin spread across his lips. It continued to grow until his perfect set of synthetic teeth reflected the snow and neon light, igniting his chiseled jaw and strong cheekbones.

“Hello, Reggie,” Mitch said.

The lanky bar owner whipped around, bent a bit at the knees, and pointed his two index fingers at Mitch.

“Why, hello there, friend! You know old Reggie, do ya?”

“Any specials today?”

“Today? We got specials every day here at... Reggie’s Saloon!” he said, pointing up at the neon sign above the door. “But today in particular we got half price on drinks and buy-one-get-one on all synthetic appetizers. That’s right, baby! Come on in and enjoy some of Reggie’s fine food, booze, and the sweet, sweet, sweet tunes of Rosenfell’s finest electro-jazz, brought to you by the four fellas known around these parts simply as... Electric Four’s, oh yeah!”

Mitch reached out and shook Reggie’s long-fingered grip, stepped through the doors and into the familiar stench of stale booze soaked into the wooden floorboards and the gray-white haze of chalky smoke wafting through the dark, black-lit saloon.

He stepped through the cloud obscuring his vision. Sidestepping and dodging tables and booths filled with patrons. The sights and sounds of the saloon faded away as he approached the bar. Like he was the only person in the entire saloon... One of the last human beings in all of Rosenfell... One of the final souls wandering upon the earth, seeking out a final mate to share stories and memories. Love and happiness. Scouring the planet for the one that could save him from his final affliction… free him from the burden of his past. Through eternity and infinity. The one that-

Mitch froze.

His pupils swelled within bulging eyeballs bursting from their sockets. Palms perspired, heart pounded against his chest as if trying to escape.

Thump thump... Thump thump... Thump thump...

He gulped a glob a sticky spit down his tight throat and peered into the lime green, neon eyes of Nova Zion, mixing a drink behind the bar.

Mitch ventured a slow, aching step forward. Forced his brain to think of something to say... something cool... something funny... something smooth and sweet...

“You just gonna stand there and stare or are you going to sit down and order something?” Nova said without looking up from the counter.

Mitch shook the haze from his head, shuffled up to the bar and plopped onto a stool a few seats over from a drunken nomad slurring to himself.

He faced forward and stared at the colorful, glass wall of booze bottles in front of him like a degenerate chandelier had been unwound and rolled out like a portrait. His mouth no longer salivated, fingers no longer tapped like they had once done at the mere sight of the liquid poison. That chemical concoction that wrecked his body, battered his mind, and destroyed his soul.

“So, what’s a corpo like you doing down here in the Twilight?” Nova asked.

Mitch cleared his throat, looked in Nova’s general direction without making eye contact.

“Fulfilling a promise I made to a beautiful lady.”

“What a gentleman you are,” Nova said, glancing at Mitch from the corner of her eyes, lips curled into a cute grin. She walked over to a lonely man at the end of the bar and placed a tall glass filled with some kind of blue liquid in front of him, made her way back to Mitch. “She is one lucky lady to catch a handsome fellow like yourself. What can I get you?”

“Do you have any water?”

“We only have synth-water. Reggie over there is cheap and spends all we’ve got on booze,” she said, motioning towards the wall behind her. “How about an elixir like I made for that guy down there?”

“No booze for me. Been sober for a while now.”

“A sober corpo?” she asked. Her head tilted sideways, studied Mitch. “How is that possible?”

Mitch chuckled awkwardly, scratched the back of his head.

“I might look like a corpo, but I’m a bum at heart.”

“I’m sure that goes over well with your colleagues. How about this… I’ll make you one of my specials, but I’ll hold the booze.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mitch said, reflecting her smile.

“Perfect,” she said, grabbing a glass from above the bar. Her neon pink, tank top crept upwards, unveiling a luminous, baby blue belly button ring that dangled above tight, black jeans.

Mitch’s eyes zipped away, zipped back towards Nova’s stomach like the blue light had sucked in his vision. She turned around and grabbed several cartons and bottles from the enormous fridge, twisted off the caps, and poured each one into a tall glass.

“So, how long have you been sober?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Just under one year.”

“Good for you. Do you remember the last drink you had?”

“Oh yeah, two beers… two free beers,” Mitch said, smiling at the memory of his bum self sipping on the beers at Reggie’s Saloon a year prior.

Nova tightened the caps over the cartons and bottles and placed them back in the fridge.

“Does it have a name?” Mitch asked. “The drink, I mean, does the drink have a name?”

“It’s named after me, of course, Nova’s Dream.”

“Lovely name,” Mitch said.

Nova turned back around, peered at Mitch with those sparkling, lime green eyes.

“Why, thank you,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. She set the glass in front of Mitch, pushed it towards him. It was filled with a swirling rainbow haze of color like she had captured the city’s neon lights and packaged them into the glass. “Don’t mix it or else it will turn into mud.”

Mitch stared into Nova’s eyes, mesmerized by their glow, and took a sip of the colorful liquid. A wave of sweet fruit washed over his tongue, rolled down his throat, filled his stomach with an icy sensation that made the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up like the glass was filled with an electric charge. He took another sip, swirled and savored the taste in his mouth before swallowing.

“It’s delicious.”

“Now just imagine what it would taste like if I had real fruit juice to put in there.”

“I might be able to get you some real fruit,” Mitch said. “I know a sweet lady that owns a natural food cart here in the Twilight.”

“That would be amazing! And very sweet of you,” Nova said. “Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“Most people call me Mitch Henderson,” he said with a flirtatious grin, “but you can call me Cowboy.”

Nova chuckled.

“That’s funny,” she said. Her head tilted backwards, eyeballs rolled to the top of their sockets, mouth drooped slightly open. “I remember calling a sweet bum that about a year ago.”

Mitch’s smile expanded, filled the entire lower half of his face.

“Hello, Nova Zion.”

Her lime green eyes zipped towards Mitch’s brown irises like they were connected by some invisible force, a hyper-dimensional beam that permeated the galactic grid, connecting sentient awareness to one another.

She leaned in, squinted.

And then, her eyelids gaped, eyebrows shot towards her electric-purple hair.

“Oh my God…” she said into her hands, palms touching, index fingers pressed to her lips. “Oh my God!”

“It’s good to see you again,” Mitch said in a voice as smooth and cool as he could muster beneath the anxious tension raging beneath his hot skin.

Nova sprinted to the end of the bar and rounded the corner where the nomad sat mindlessly sipping his elixir.

Mitch stepped off of the stool, spread his arms wide, and captured her as she leapt three feet through the air and into his embrace. He gushed a muted grunt and took a few steps backward to absorb the weight and force of her body.

Her feet kicked off the floor, dangled in the air, arms wrapped around Mitch’s head while his arms wrapped around her back. Their erratic heartbeats steadied, settled into a single, thumping sound.

“What have you done with yourself, Cowboy?” Nova whispered into Mitch’s left ear. Her soft voice streamed through his eardrum, ignited a dormant fire deep within himself like an eternal spark of life had been lit. Never to be extinguished.

“It was time to put my life together,” Mitch said, pulling away so that he could stare into Nova’s eyes. They burned greener, twinkled brighter as they investigated the smooth, vibrant skin on Mitch’s face, his straight teeth, his full head of hair from his synthetic wig combed to the left, shaped without any sleazy grease or gel. “You were the motivation I needed. And besides, I made a promise to bring a queen to her ball.”

Nova’s eyes flashed like they had been charged with a battery pack plugged straight into her nervous system.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked.

“Of course,” Mitch said, lowering Nova so that her feet were back on solid ground. “What do you say, Nova Zion? Will you be my date to the Rotech Ball tomorrow evening?”

Nova was silent, wide grin spread across her sweet face, glowing eyes staring up at Mitch. She nodded, wiped a bit of moisture from her right eye with the tip of her index finger.

“Yes… yes,” Nova said, squeezing Mitch’s palms, “I would love to be your date. It’s just that…” she said looking down her torso, “I wasn’t prepared. I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Didn’t think I would pull it off, did you?” Mitch said, smirking. “What do you say we go find something for the both of us?”

“Okay, Cowboy,” Nova said, leaning into Mitch’s warm torso, wrapped in his arms.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Nova snatched a white peacoat from the counter, grabbed Mitch’s hand, and led him to the front door.

“Reggie,” Nova said, walking up to the owner planted at the entrance, “I need you to cover for me. Family emergency.”

Reggie turned, faced the two, eyebrows raised. He looked at Nova, then Mitch, then back to Nova.

“This is my distant cousin,” Nova said, patting Mitch on the shoulder. “Theodore, meet Reggie.”

Mitch glanced at Nova, stretched out his palm and gripped Reggie’s limp hand, shook it once.

“Nice to officially meet you, sir. Nova has told our family much about the great, Reggie’s Saloon.”

“Who’s going to be at the door to reel all of our customers in?” Reggie asked, dumbfounded.

“Maybe more people will come in before you have the chance to scare them away,” Mitch said with a slight shrug.

Reggie’s expressionless face stared into the haze of chalky smoke emanating from within his saloon. Eyes, unmoving, as if they processed the information Mitch recited.

Nova hitched up on her tiptoes, pecked Reggie on the cheek.

“Thanks, Reggie! You’re the best.”

“Might be good for business, think about it,” Mitch said, slapping Reggie on the shoulder as he made his way out the door, Nova’s arm interlinked with his.

Nomads swarmed in the pandemonium of the Twilight. They mingled and sipped on booze, fiddled with their tech, and munched on synth-food from the street carts surrounding the electric quad.

Mitch noticed Nova staring at him from the corner of his eye. He turned and looked into her eyes.

“You were gone for so long,” she said, “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I’m sorry, Nova,” Mitch said. “I had changes to make… things to figure out. I couldn’t bring you to the ball as a bum.”

“Just don’t lose that kindness you showed me. The heart of a bum is more powerful than the mind of a corpo could ever dream to be.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen that firsthand.”

“Your soul and your humanity mean more than credits or status.”

“Tomorrow, I have to give a presentation for Rotech. We are unveiling new tech that I helped the company secure. I owe my boss a favor for saving my life, and I owe it to myself to enact revenge on the other members of the board. When that is over, we will go to the ball and then I will leave the soulless, corpo life forever. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan, Cowboy,” Nova said smiling up at Mitch. “Where to now?”

“My good friend, Eleanor, told me about a place in Laurelhurst District that can fit us for a gown and tuxedo.”

“What’s it called?”

“She said it doesn’t have a name. We just have to walk to a door at the end of Hawthorne Alley, knock, and say Eleanor sent us.”

“Must be a real fancy place,” Nova said.

“I trust her. She’s been a wise mentor and savior to me this past year. She helped me when I was hungry and suffering and no one else was around.”

“That is very kind of her,” Nova said. “You don’t see that in this rotten city anymore.”

“When the convention and ball are over I will take you to meet her,” Mitch said. “Let’s head down here. This alley will pop us out right next to Morrison Bridge.”

Mitch tugged on Nova’s hand, guided her through the muck. The previous day’s snowfall had melted, gathered in icy puddles down the length of the alley, glistened with the sparkling, neon light from the stories of billboards levitating high in the sky.

When they reached the middle of the wall between the two streets, a flash of light ripped across Mitch’s vision. He froze in his muddy tracks, gasped like a knee collided into his stomach. The alley’s rotten stench crawled through his nostrils, strangled his brain, filled his mind with the recurring vision peering at his reflection in the ripples of muddy water.

Nova said something into Mitch’s ear, but the words died, muffled by his conscious awareness receding into himself, crawling deeper into his unconscious, like he walked through an abandoned HyperRail station during a wind storm trying to hear the public announcement.

Something pinched his arm, squeezed, then shook it. He looked down, saw Nova’s hand, looked up and gazed into her green eyes. His ears popped like two gunshots burst through his eardrums, screeched from the pressure like a siren rattled around his skull.

“Everything okay in there, Cowboy?” Nova asked, stepping in front of Mitch. She lowered her head to peek into his eyes, unmoving from a spot on the ground. “Hello? Say something, Mitch… Mitch!”

The sound and force of her voice snapped the wall that had built up around his mind. He blinked, shook his head, stared back at Nova’s unsettled face, peered deep into her luminous eyes.

“What did you say?” Mitch asked.

“What’s wrong?” Nova asked, squeezing the tender flesh of Mitch’s tricep. “You were paralyzed.”

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said, rubbing his eyes. “It’s just…” he turned away, stared into the distance. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure what it is. Sometimes these vivid images pop into my head.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard for me to tell if they are memories of the past, premonitions of the future, or something else. The sewer smell of this alley must have triggered it.”

“Could they be hallucinations?” Nova asked. “Maybe a bonzo flashback?”

Mitch gazed into the distance, sifted through the strange corridors of his mind.

“I don’t know…”

“Should we go to a hospital?”

“No hospital. I’m hoping that there will be someone at the convention who can explain what’s happening to me,” Mitch said. He grabbed her cold hand, sandwiched and squeezed it between his two palms. “I’ll be fine, let’s keep moving.”

They trudged through the back half of the alley and popped out onto the main road. Navigated their way between the nomads and bums walking on the left and right across Morrison Bridge like lanes of zombie traffic.