Faux Glamour

Trudging along through the dank dusk air, he feels his limbs growing increasingly heavy. The forest seems to be an infinite expanse of trees and unforgiving brush. For hours he had walked, growing increasingly desperate and antsy as he seemed to go in circles with no end in sight. As he accepts his defeat and begins to settle on the lush floor, he hears a light sound, almost a twinkle. He lays back, head pressed to the floor and stares at the sky imagining the stars calling him home. He must be crazy, must be imagining the sound, but then he hears it again.

He stirs and, with great difficulty, props himself up on his knees. Again, the sound jingles. He peels his limbs off of the ground and attempts to steady himself, head spinning. Again, he shuffles along, clinging to trees as he stumbles toward the source of the sound. This time, it's as if the forest is guiding the way. The trees seem to shift and the brush seems to part, creating a faint path to salvation. He continues with a newfound desire for rescue as the sound grows louder. He lurches forward into an oddly shaped clearing with only one defining feature, an old, crumbling barn. The barn is wooden with cedar shards littering the ground from years or decay. The roof, a red tin, was thin, rusted, and draped with small fairy lights. Confused at the sudden silence of the clearing, he walks toward the old barn.

"Who knows? " he mutters, "Maybe there will be food or water; if not I can walk more later."

He slowly approaches the building, growing more apprehensive when suddenly, the large door swings open. He gasps faintly as he peers inside, confusion written across his face. The barn appears to be full of life, with a horseshoe shaped bar in the center. Lights twinkle all around, and the hum of jazz music fills his ears. A band is in the corner, surrounded by other patrons. The bar and surrounding hightop tables are full of guests.

Slowly, he takes a timid step forward. One after the other, he makes his way toward the bar. The other patrons do not so much as glance in his direction as he approaches. Instead, they chatter along to their neighbors. Reaching the bar, he grasps the back of an empty chair, pulls it backwards, and slowly plops downwards into it. Finally, the bartender acknowledges him with a tip of his chin. He walks away, returning a few seconds later with a shimmering purple concoction.

"It's on the house. Drink up," he says with a pointed look, voice smooth as syrup.

The boy slowly reaches out, hesitantly swirling the purple liquid.

The woman beside him turns, and says with a smile, "C'mon son, just take a sip."

Begrudgingly, he does. Instantly, his head clears and he relaxes. He begins to take in the oddity that is the barn. The guests, are all dressed in the garb of the flapper era. Fluffy feathers and opalescent pearls and shining tassels decorate their bodies. As he observes, he continues to sip on his drink, but now instead of clearing his mind, it begins to make him spin. He again looks at the other people at the bar. He can't place it, but they seem off. His eyes narrow in on their drinks, and that's when he sees the liquid all sits untouched. Lifting his eyes, he notices them all staring.

"Tsk, tsk, and we thought we'd have time for a little more fun before you were enlightened," the man on his right drawls.

Suddenly, he feels two firm hands grasp his shoulders, and he is pulled backwards into darkness.