I was sitting in a dingy old bar on the wrong side of the tracks.
The kind of place where the degenerates seemed to fall between the cracks.

A place where ones back was safer against a wall.
Some colorful characters amongst the crowd keeping me enthralled.

The dusty old jukebox in the corner played some depressing country song.
A cloud of smoke hovered the room and the smell of stale booze was strong.

No such thing as happy hour when you drink in a place like this.
Not only did it smell of stale booze but it also reeked of piss.

The whiskey burned my throat as I downed a couple of shots.
Suddenly, I was overcome by a smell as if something had started to rot.

I noticed a reflection of someone behind me in the mirror behind the bar.
Spinning around on my stool the first thing I noticed were his facial scars.

The burning embers of a lit cigarette cast a pale light on the man's features.
With every puff he took the lines on his face became a little clearer.

Ashes fell from the tip as they grew to long and heavy to stay attached.
Drawing my eye to the knife on his belt that looked all beat up and scratched.
My attention and curiosity he surely did attract.

Ashes cascaded gently to the ground as I stared in awe at this mysterious man.
The tips of his fingers turning yellow from the cigarette in his hand.

He wore a wide brimmed hat all tattered, torn and black.
His long dark stringy hair hung down the middle of his back.

He pulled down his hat as if to hide his hollow sunken eyes.
He appeared to only be a shell of a man, a creature of his own demise.

The smell of burnt flesh flared my nostrils as his cigarette burned to a nub.
The smoke from his fingers burned my eyes so I gave them both a rub.

His breathe smelled of cheap whiskey and he wore a long beat up leather coat.
Was this man before me a dealer of death, determined and fully devote.

He didn't appear to be a mortal man and I wondered if I was looking at a ghost.
My heart thumped loudly in my ears as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

His dirty, weathered skin looked like worn out leather hide.
The hat he wore atop his head adorned with a single black feather on the side.

Who the hell was this man and why was he standing there staring at me?
Was this man who stood before me cursed or was he holier then thee?

"Grab yourself a drink my friend, now come pull up a stool."
Every person in the bar heard the tension in my voice as I tried to play it cool.

"Two whiskeys for me and my partner here, just to be safe better make them doubles."
"Have a drink on me."
"I just want it to be known I don't want any trouble."

His threatening figure drew even closer as he sat on the stool beside me.
He had yet to utter a single word as he sat down on his seat so silently.

The stench of death almost overwhelming as it oozed from all his pores.
By the Haggered look upon his face he'd been through many wars.

He looked at me with wild eyes, he seemed not to be stable
"The only way to save your soul is to drink me under the table."

The bartender set two doubles in front of us on the sticky counter top.
He drank them both himself then motioned the bartender to fill them up.

The barkeep poured two more doubles, and the man pushed them in my direction.
Stepping up to the plate I shot my 90 proof injection.

Again he beckoned the bartender to fill them both back up.
The barkeep could barely keep his hands from shaking as he topped up the filthy cups.

You could feel the tension in the room, heavy like a weight.
Double after double, how long could I go if we kept on pounding them straight.

My eyes were getting blurry and my legs they felt like rubber.
Every shot I choked down made my insides shudder.

Drink for drink, a competition taking place for my soul.
"If you don't want an eternity in hell," he said, you will do just as you were told.

"Any type of liquor, name your poison son."
Already in the midst of battle, I pointed to the bottle of rum.

Hammering back the drinks, matching one another ounce for ounce.
We battled long into the night with our alcoholic joust.

Another shot of rum, whiskey and vodka too.
Bottle after bottle, we continued to push on through.

He showed no signs of stopping and he wasn't backing down.
I was swimming in so much liquor that night, I'm surprised I didn't drown.

The last couple of shots he choked down as he swallowed extremely hard.
Three sheets to the wind, I slammed two more with complete and utter disregard.

The more I drank the less I cared and felt as if I sobered a little.
The dirty jukebox now blaring a song with some upbeat country fiddle.

The son of a bitch swayed back and forth almost falling off his stool.
My adrenaline pumped and I felt as though I was drinking rocket fuel.

Quitting isn't an option when you drink against the dead.
Thoughts of life and immortality spiraling in my head.

It was then the bartender spoke up and slowly began to speak.
Reaching under the bar he picked up a bottle that looked antique.

"I have something here that will send a chill down the center of your spine."
Blowing the dust off the bottle, he spun the top off his finest homemade shine

He filled two foggy glasses and set them before us on the bar.
My ears now soaking up the sound of some twangy country guitar.

I wished I hadn't smelled it first, the stench burned into my sinuses.
Two feet, I jumped right in but wasn't making any Promises.

The moment it hit my lips I knew the choice I made was wrong.
Every muscle in my body tightened, this liquor was just to strong.

Trying to focus my watering eyes and keep this demon down.
We had already drank the bar near dry and it was long since I lost count.

There was a burning in my stomach and it moved up to my throat.
But I refused to give up, even if I choked.

Ordering the barkeep to "keep em coming," he lined us up two more.
It wouldn't be too long now before one of us hit the floor.

My nemesis now hunched over the bar trying desperately to balance himself.
In order to save my soul that night I had to drink every drop on the shelf.

I'd either save my soul or drink myself to death so the bastard couldn't win.
We must have been at least, four or five sheets into the wind.

He didn't seem so scary now with shoulders hunched and head hung down.
And my condition was not much better then his as I ordered another round.

He wobbled and he weaved and soon his chest heaved.
Then he threw up a big pile of bones.

The windows and the doors blew open forcefully with a gust.
Then him and his bones simply turned into dust.

They swirled in the wind as it whipped through the bar.
What the hell was happening this was all so bizarre.

As fast as it came it was gone just as soon.
The look of shock and surprise on every face in the room.

In my liquor fueled haze, wondering if I hallucinated.
Was I truly this close to my soul being completely decimated?

That was the night I drank against the dead and came close to meeting my maker.
Death came knocking but I didn't answer, not tonight Mr. Undertaker.


"lucifer #devil #drinking #death #dark #eerie #suspense #dustandbones #soul #jukebox #evil


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