text: This is my first time posting my work anywhere, so I'm nervous. I hope it's enjoyable :) A Grim Inevitability by Austin Cates My favorite bar smells like any other bar, and it's filled with the typical bar folk you'd find anywhere else. It's also one of the last bars in town that you can smoke in, which is good for me. I take my usual seat at the bar, near the end by the jukebox on the wall, then order a shot of Jameson and a Guinness in a cold mug. The bartender gets my order ready while I play a song on the jukebox: Hurt by Johnny Cash. I take my seat again, pay for my drinks and stare at the shot of Jameson. The beautiful amber liquid stares back at me, filling what's left of my soul with a sense of warm familiarity. Pulling my cigarettes from my chest pocket, I let Mr. Cash sing in my ear. The Zippo my grandfather gave me on my 18th birthday, engraved with the three things he swore by, is struck and the flame roars to life before it meets the Camel Menthol between my lips. The three things are as follows: "Drink, Smoke, Love." My grandfather wasn't the most outspoken of men, but he knew what he wanted in life, I'm much the same way. A drag brings the minty smoke into my lungs and I breathe it out in a thick, silky cloud that masks my face from the world for a fleeting moment. Three fingers grab the Jameson and I knock it back without so much as a twinge in the corner of my mouth. Irish Holy Water, my grandfather called it. "Drink a glass a day and it'll keep the Devil at bay." He'd tell me. "Why would it keep him away?" I'd ask. "Because even the Devil knows not to fuck with a man that drinks Jameson." Would be his response. "But remember one thing kid, spilling even a drop is a sin." He'd finish. The bartender, Raylan, watches me stare at myself in the mirror and I can tell that he's curious. He says nothing though, just watches me stare at the rough, stubble ridden face in the mirror. Cash laments with his raspy voice and it parallels my appearance. Time has made me weary and withered, what looks like 50 is actually 31. Too many long days and short nights I suppose. The Camels and Irish Holy Water don't help, I'm sure. A man walks up behind me and takes the seat to my left. He's wearing a black jacket over a black shirt with black jeans and boots. "Afternoon." He says, his voice is harsh, yet somehow intriguing. "Afternoon." I nod, then push my shot glass to the speed rack on the bar and Raylan walks over to refill it. "Make it a double, yeah?" I ask, and he nods. "Never got a handle for Jameson." The man states, his tone implies he wants conversation. I sigh before turning my head towards him. "Jack Daniels kinda guy?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "I prefer Appleton rum, to be honest, but Captain Morgan will do in a pinch." He says, his voice makes him sound like a lifelong cigar smoker, yet he can't be more than 25. "Never liked rum, too sweet." I tell him as Raylan sets my double shot of Jameson down in front of me and takes 9 bucks from the cash I have on the bar. "Understandable." He nearly wheezes. "You okay?" I ask, and he laughs deeps and hardy. "Never better kid." He chuckles with a stiff pat to my back. He's strong as an angry bull. He listens to Johnny Cash finish the song and he smiles with the corner of his mouth. "I met him once, y'know." The man tells me. "Only once though, and I don't think he liked me much." I don't what to say to that, so I simply nod. I drink the Jameson and set the glass in the speed rack with a nod to Raylan to refill it. "You really like that shit huh?" The man asks rhetorically. "Obviously." I mutter, slightly annoyed. "Aw, someone's.touchy." He laughs and smacks me on the back again. I swivel my stool towards him and stand up, ready to beat him into the dirt. "You're gonna wanna sit back down kid." He says with that corner-of-the-mouth smile. "Or what?" I ask, enraged. "Or this is gonna go a different way than it has to." He replies with his grin still in place. Something in my mind tells me to sit down and I can't control it. "There ya go." The man says. Nobody in the bar seemed to notice. The man looks into my eyes and it feels as though I'm being drained of willpower. "You know who I am, kid?" He asks, and I shake my head. "Don't worry, I'd be amazed if ya did." The man's stare is unbelievably horrific, yet he somehow engages me. "I'll give ya a hint: I've been around a long time, longer than anyone and almost anything." His words ring with truth, and I know the answer immediately, but he can't possibly be right. "Don't doubt me kid, it's only embarrassing for you." He mutters with a flair of pride. He's Death... "Ding ding ding, we have a winner." His corner-of-the-mouth smile turns into a full fledged grin that could rival The Joker. "Before you say it's impossible, just know that it isn't." The gravely voice he emanates hooks my soul and grinds my mind to bits. He grins again and it occurs why he would be here. "So this is it huh?" I inquire, knowing the answer, and he nods. "Unfortunately so." He replies. I swivel back to the bar and drink my Guinness almost in one go. "You want a drink?" I ask him without looking at him. He stares at me with a quizzical face before nodding. "You're not gonna try and geGerit out of this?" He asks. "Can I?" I ask back, still not looking at him and again knowing the answer. "Nope." The man, Death, says. "That's why I didn't ask." I mutter, then finish my Guinness. I wave for Raylan and he comes over. "Double of Jameson Single Barrel for me and a double of Appleton Rum for him." I tell Raylan. "Pretty expensive stuff, you sure?" Raylan asks. "Can't take money with me when I die." I chose my words carefully and the man laughs heartily. "Ain't that the truth." He utters in that voice that sounds like a truck pulling in a driveway made of loose rocks. Raylan pours the liquor and I give him 40 in cash and the rest of my money ($512) as a tip. "I can't take that." Raylan says, looking at the money then at me "Don't worry about it, buy something for your wife." I suggest, then he nods. "You sure?" He asks, really uncomfortable with my offer. "Like I said, can't take it with me." I reply with a nod. "Well thanks man, really." His face shows a gratitude I haven't seen in a very long time. We nod to each other and he walks away. "Tryin to do one last good deed before ya go?" The man asks. "Something like that." I answer, then grab my glass, lift it and look at him. He lifts his glass and looks into my eyes. "Drink a glass a day and it'll keep the Devil at bay." He says, and for a second I see my grandfather sitting on the stool. I blink and it's just the man, Death, who winks and we drink our shots. I light one last cigarette and stand up. "Let's do this." I tell him, and he nods. "After you." He says in that scratchy voice, then motions for me to walk to the door. I take a drag and let the smoke loose through my nose as I walk. The man walks ahead of me and opens the door, then we exit into the light.