Mysterious Encounters
Chronicles of Lana - aka The Blade
This place brought a new definition to dive bar. My ears bled from the screech of the guitar, not to mention that the lead singer hadn’t showered in at least a week. The smell, even from here, was overwhelmingly pungent with body odor and stale beer. The bartender placed a shot of whiskey before me. The cheap stuff, but I wasn’t about to spend good money in a place like this on spirits I couldn’t even enjoy any longer.
I checked my phone, two minutes since I last checked, and still my contact hadn’t showed up. They were late, seven minutes to be precise. In three more, I was out of there. Lifting the glass, I took the shot. It was tasteless, the alcohol barely affecting me. I didn’t feel the burn going down, or the giddiness of alcohol. There was only one thing that made me feel anything close to what alcohol used to make me feel and this was the wrong color. My stomach no longer rejected the alcohol. It took me years and nights of burning pain to be able to stomach it, and by God, I was going to drink as much as I could. I slammed the shot glass down next to the other two empty shots.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my Hunter’s instinct kicking in. The bartender looked over and I motioned for another one. He nodded and served a man at the end of the bar. Casually I looked around and…
