bartending for endlings

The last person to utter the words "last call" knew she wouldn't live to see another day.

A storm was coming. The storm to end all storms. Even now, it raked its way across the continent, annihilating everything, sparing no one.

Her name was Artemis—the bartender, not the storm.

"Last call, babes," she said to her three patrons. It had been relatively quiet in the bar. The generator outside was throwing a fit, fighting to keep the lights on. Artemis had filled it up with vodka after they'd run out of gasoline, and she was surprised it had lasted this long.

Desperate times, desperate whatever.

"C'mon, Arty," said Denise. "Shouldn't we stick together?"

"I'm not spending my last hours bartending. I did this for you guys as one last favor for my friends. I'll fix you each one more drink, then I'm going home."

"To do what?"

"Whatever I want. I'm thinking I'll read a book. See how far I can get through one of my favorite novels before... it happens."

Carol, at the end of the bar, started crying again. Denise rubbed her back.

"You aren't seriously going to spend your last few hours alone," Denise said.

"Why not?" Artemis shrugged. "I don't want anyone to try and comfort me. There's no point. Besides, I came to terms with the fact that I'd die alone a long time ago."

Carol cried even harder.

"I'll have another dark and stormy," Sierra said glumly.

"Coming right up."

A distant thunder grumbled. Everyone froze to listen. When the thunder died down and the only sound was the angry generator outside, they let out a collective breath.

"God, I'm hungry," Sierra said, running her nails through her black hair. "I'd give anything for a cheeseburger right now."

Artemis floated dark rum over the top of a glass of ginger beer and lime juice, then slid the cocktail over to her. "Haven't you been vegan for like twenty-five years?"

"This time tomorrow there won't be any vegans anywhere. Or animals for that matter."

Denise slammed her fists on the bar. "That is it! I have had it with you bitches being so fucking resigned."

"What else is there?" Sierra said bluntly. "Look around. You see a bunker anywhere? You see a spaceship? We're not exactly astronauts." She pulled up her sleeve to reveal the skull-head moth tattoo on the inside of her forearm. "Memento mori. Remember that you will die. All of us will. There's no escaping it."

"No, I know, but—" Denise looked around the decrepit bar for inspiration, her eyes glazed somewhat from the alcohol. "Okay, what if we left a mark?"

Carol looked up, curious if not consoled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if we left our names in something that we knew would last? We could write something, say something."

"There'll be no one left to see it," Sierra said.

"So what! That's not the point! The point is we did something. That we went out kicking and screaming!"

"We had our whole lives to make an impact," Sierra said. "Some of us even tried, for all the good it did us. But if a tree falls on a teensy-weensy planet in a small corner of the galaxy, it doesn't make a peep."

"I was here. I was here!" Denise said, voice cracking.

Artemis handed Denise a paring knife. "Here. Carve you message into the bar."

Denise looked from the knife to Artemis, then back.

"Order your last drink, babe," Artemis said softly. "What'll it be?"

Denise took the knife. "Fuck me. Is there any wine left?"

"Sure. Red or white?"

"Red."

"Coming right up."

Denise scratched the polished wood, carving her own epitaph.

Artemis poured a tall glass of a red blend from Saint-Émilion. As she poured, it occurred to Artemis that the place this wine came from probably didn't exist anymore. And lot of grapes died to make this wine.

She placed the wine in front of Denise, saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and reached out for her hand.

Denise looked up from the letters she was carving and took it.

"I love you, babe," Artemis said.

"You too."

Artemis gave her hand a squeeze. "Keep making your mark."

They released each other's hand. Denise went back to carving.

Artemis turned to Carol. "What're you having? Anything you want. On the house."

Carol stared into the distance, her back to the impending storm. She shook her head slowly, side to side. "This can't be all there is. It can't."

"I'm sorry, but it can," Sierra said, sipping her cocktail. "And it is."

"I'm not done yet. There are things I haven't done yet. I didn't get the chance. It's not fair. No one ever fell in love with me." Carol covered her face in her hands and shoulders shook with fresh sobs.

Everyone fell silent. The generator coughed and the lights flickered.

Sierra got up from her seat, walked over to Carol, and wrapped her arms around her. "I'm sorry. I was being mean before. I'm sorry."

Carol clung to Sierra. "Arty, I want a slippery nipple."

"You got it," Artemis said, smiling.

Sierra laughed.

"You're wrong, you know," Sierra said. "I fell in love with you. We all did."

Carol sniffed hard and wiped her nose. "That's nice. But you were never gonna eat my pussy."

Everyone laughed.

Thunder rolled, closer this time. They all looked at the ceiling as though it might crack open.

"There's still time," Sierra whispered.

Carol looked at Sierra with wide eyes. Sierra wiped the tears from Carol's cheek with her sleeve and let her fingers linger at her cheek. Then, slowly, Sierra took Carol by the hand and led her into the bathroom.

Denise smiled sadly as she watched them leave. "And then there were two."

"I guess so," Artemis said. "What'd you write?"

Artemis read the letters in their rigid lines: "My name was Denise, and I tried my best."

"You did do your best," Artemis said. "We all did."

Denise's eyes welled. "But was it enough?"

Artemis took a long, deep breath. "You know what? I think I've changed my mind. I think I'll stick around for a bit."

Artemis fixed herself and old fashioned, stepped around the bar, and sat with Denise until the lights went out.