Hope On The Rocks/Issue 6

This is Issue 6 of Hope On The Rocks, entitled "For The Best".

This issue is Al-centric.

106, For The Best
Now i realize that I shouldn’t have said all that to the girl. Just because my girlfriend died, doesn’t mean any of them will. My guess is the government is working on a cure or something right now.

Hungover, I open my eyes. I had a drink too much yesterday, i feel that now. I push the blanket away, and place my left hand on my head. It feels like somebody is poking to my brain with a fork or something.

Slowly, I get out of the bed. As i feel yesterday’s fluids approach my mouth, I haste out to the bathroom and puke it all out.

Yea, allright, I know; i’m a muslim, I shouldn’t drink. I shouldn’t smoke, eat pig, have random sex, etc. either. But hell, we only live once... Well, that’s how it used to be.

As i arrive to the bar, the smell of beer makes me sick, I only see that golden-haired bartender, working on the radio.

“Morning.” I say, walking towards the table where I sat yesterday. I still feel bad for that young girl. I feel like a jerk. I try to ignore it, and say: “Where’s the food?”

The golden-haired bartender points toward a door, wihtout any words.

I get up and head to the door. I open and see boxes and bags. I open a box and find some toast. I take the white bread and go back to the table.

“Any progess?” I ask, as I open the plastic bag with the white bread.

“No idea. I’m a bartender...” The man says and reaches out for a screwdriver. “Not a radio technic.”

I smile. I’ve been here for, what, two days? And i’m thinking that i’ll stay here, with these guys, until the government has worked it all out. I might as well get some friends.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced for each other.” I say with my mouth full of bread. I get up and head to the man.

“Texas Starr.” The man says, without looking back.

“I’m Al.” I say, and sit down at one of the bar stools. “You were the bartender here? I hear...”

I am cut off mid-sentence, by a noise coming from the radio.

“It’s working.” Texas says and looks at me. “It’s working.”

I smile. Now we can get in contact with the government, or military or something. “Well, try and reach someone then.”

Texas picks up the microphone and says into it: “Hello? Anyone there?”

Static noise.

“Texas Starr. Is anyone there?”

Static noise.

“Texas Starr. Is anyone there?”

A voice can be heard in the static. I get up from my chair, and go on the other side of the counter.

“Hello? Is ayone there?” Texas says, and slowly begin to adjust the frequency.

“Who’s there?” A voice in the radio, clearly says.

I look at Texas, who begins to talk with the man.

“Texas Starr here. Who are you? Where are you?”

“Easy now. I’m at a refugee camp, two miles west for Waynesburg.”

“Who are you?” Texas asks, with sceptism in his voice.

“I’m officer Gavin Cart.”

“Ask him about the government.” I whisper to Texas.

“Do you know anything about the government?” Texas asks.

“There is no such thing anymore. The military is in control.” The voice, belonging to Gavin Cart, says over the radio.

Texas and I look at each other. Gavin Cart goes through again: “Where are you? We’ll help you.”

“We’re in Waynesburg. We’re...”

Texas is cut off. Instead of Gavin Cart, we’re now talking with static noise.

For a while, we just sit there, until Miles comes down.

“What’s going on?” He asks, and begins to eat of the bread I took out.

“Nothing...” I say and look at Texas who is nodding. “Nothing at all.”