Libelula

Tiptoeing across the rocky, dirt path. Moon shining bright overhead, illuminating the streets...serving as a warning to anyone who's tempted to start mischief.

Clinks of coffee cups and utensils fill the air, soft enough to know people are still awake, eating late dinners or chatting away with old friends. Soft lights cast steep shadows across the brick streets.

You're taking a stroll, tripping slightly over a few of the jagged stones that don't quite fit the path. You have a lot on your mind. Your boss cancelled the dinner appointment you had scheduled. You took a train to the city, not wanting to say no to an important invitation. You felt obligated to say yes, even though that means staying overnight in the city. You don't have enough money to rent a room at an inn, and the last train already took off. You're stuck here until morning.

You were so excited. "Hey, Samson, how'd you like to grab cigars and get coffee tonight? There's supposed to be a traveling band at Starlight."

You were hoping that this would finally get you in your boss' good graces. Not that you were in bad faith with him, but it's nice to be recognized. Maybe it would have led to some sort of mentorship. You don't want to be an accountant's assistant forever. You hope to one day have your own clients, taking care of the local shop owners and their business. But, unless your father's already an accountant, or has the money to send you to get training, you can only rely on an already established individual to give you that guidance. That hasn't happened yet.

You're not sure why your boss cancelled. He left a note for you with the attendant at Starlight.

"Can't make it to coffee. We'll raincheck."

The disappointment washed over you like lukewarm water. You see a back alley and see a small enclave next, behind a cafe that's already closed. You decide that's probably the best place to keep for the night. You're not sure you'll sleep, but you can't walk forever.

You sit down and start thinking about life. Slowly you start to nod off, the crisp air getting cooler, you can feel it go through your hair. You're a bit chilly, but you huddle closer and close your eyes.

"You're okay," you tell yourself.

You blink rapidly. Now it's pitch black in the streets, all the lights are turned off. The moon's still shining, but not as bright as before. It's quiet, the coffee cups and plates are all stowed away, resting in the cupboards before being used again.

You start to stretch and notice your foot hits something. You look closer, peering through your sleepy eyes. It's a brown paper box. It's wrapped nicely, with a bow tied around it.

You blink. It wasn't there before. You're sure of it. There's a tag wrapped around it. You look closer and noticed it's addressed to you.

"For: Samson" it reads.

The "From:" is left blank.

You're skeptical. You know it's not smart to accept gifts that just come out of the blue. You pick it up anyways. You peak inside. There's a glass bottle.

You open it up, tossing away the paper box, but slide the tag in your pocket, a little keepsake.

The glass bottle reads "Libelula". You're not sure what that means. You pop the cap open and it sizzles a bit, almost like sparkling water. The smell coming out of the bottle is sweet. A sickly sweet, almost as if the color orange had a taste. And, the bottle's a little warm.

You decide to take a sip, just a small one. It was addressed to you anyways.The warmness washes over your tongue and slides down your throat. You gag immediately. It's the most unpleasant drink you've ever had. A strong, acidic feel bubbles in your stomach.

It's awful, but you feel a bit shallow in the head. Lighter. You start to laugh. You start to feel good. You decide to take a bigger swig this time, but do it quick to get past the taste.

You gag twice as you chug. Okay, that's enough. You stand up. Man, you feel great. The fresh air hits your face, a little warm after drinking. The moon is shining. So beautiful. You stare at it, trying to squint to find the crevasses and creases that make it so unique.

You almost start to tear up, it's so beautiful. Everything feels magnified. You start to laugh. The image of the moon in contrast to the vast, dark sky makes it look like a peephole. You expect the eye of God to peek through, checking in on his creation.

Oh man. Now you start to feel guilty. You haven't been to church in a while. Your mom would be so disappointed. You start to tear up, you don't want to disappoint your mother. She scarified so much for you. An image of her face, framed by brown curls and bright brown eyes flashes through your mind. You decide to go to church right now.

You remember there's a chapel close to your work. It may not be open but you don't care. You practically run in that direction, tripping every so often. The bricks are hard, but when you knees skid against them, it's like you can barely feel them. You're bleeding on one of your legs but you barely notice.

You're trying to find the church. Finally you see a cross on top of one of the roofs. You run in that direction.

You forget why you're heading over to the church. Oh yeah, because you love your mom.

You're at the steps, but you start to feel tired. And a little dizzy. Your body also feels heavy. You take another swig of the bottle, surprised to see your hands still gripping it.

The warm liquid slides down your throat, and you gag again. Then throw up. The sight and smell of the throw up makes you gag more. You're bent over on the cobblestone steps of the church, convulsing. You're trying to get whatever made you so happy out of your system because now you just feel sick.

You start to feel dizzy and you lay down, on the cool stone steps. You close your eyes and start to drift to a deep sleep.

---

"SAMSON," screams someone.

You're woken up by the sound of someone screaming your name. Your head's pounding and your mouth feels weird, almost foam-like.

"SAMSON." screams the name again. You try opening your eyes but it's painful. Finally you manage to pry them open, squinting at the figure hovering over you.

It's your boss. You see him as he sees you, on the steps of the church with throw-up all over yourself. He's red with fury. The sun is shining bright, so it's about mid-morning. There's a crowd of people at the front of one of the cafes, staring at the show rolling out in front of them.

You want to throw up again, but you hold it in.

"Samson. Do NOT come into work today," your boss is so angry he can barely get the words out.

"I will leave your belongings on the front steps. Be there tomorrow to pick them up or they'll be dumped in the trash." He walks away before you can even get two words in. You stutter, tripping after him but you fail. You're on your hands in knees, head swirling and heavy, like a spinning bowling ball.

You see it, "Libelula", calling your name again. You want to gag thinking about it, but it's tempting. The need to feel light headed and great again. You grab it and notice it's half empty. You decide to take another swig. What have you got to lose at this point.