text: "What do you mean a spaceship is headed for us?" he said, trembling with fear. "It's all over the news," she told him, "Where have you been David?" "I drank last night, I just woke up," he explained, she always did this, she judged him, it was in her eyes, disgust. "I hate that you do that," she scowled, but she was holding back, "you drink until you pass out and then you wake up and you do it again." "Yes and I will keep doing it until the day I die," he explained. "Just like dad," she said, and this was a deep cut, she knew what she was doing, she mentioned dad all the time. He turned and walked away to hide the tears, opening the door to the bar. The inside walls were a dark brown and pictures and paintings lined them, booths along the walls, and tables scattered throughout but those weren't David's destination. David walked straight to the back to the bar, where he would sit. Bottles all along the wall behind the bar, he imagined drinking everything behind the bar, walking back there and chugging it all. Surely he would die then. The door opened behind him, as he strolled towards the barstool he always sat in, she was following him. She wasn't supposed to follow him, she never had before. "It's the end of the world, and still your just going to sink into that seat just like every other day?" she asked him, reprimanding him. "What do you think I should do Sam, do you think I should join the military and help them take down the aliens?" "Well no that's not-" "Sir," David shouted to the back, the bar had just opened, and just like always he had woken up just in time, "two shots of whisky please." "You know I don't drink," she reminded him, and he just laughed. The bartender came around the corner scowling. "You're the first one here every day David," he said as he grabbed the glasses and poured the shots, "the only one ever here this early." "It's one," he explained, taking one shot and then the other in quick succession, "and that means its time to drink." "Most people don't start until five," Sam explained, trying to get his attention. She needed to leave, how could he get her to? "Look I won't be here all day," he explained, "I just need it to function. If you leave and go do whatever you were trying to get me to help with, I'll join you soon." "I met this guy at a bar last night," she explained, as he held up his hand for a refill, the bartender sighed and filled both of the shot glasses, "he has a spaceship, he said we are going to be eaten if we stay here, we gotta go David." "I'm not leaving, this is our home," he explained, "and I'm not going to be in anyone's debt." He gulped down both shots at once. "I'm not going to leave you here to die," she said, trying to pull him, she was too weak and he was too large, he wasn't muscular, it was the alcohol. "You don't get it," he said, angry now at her persistence, he almost forgot he was looking at her, it was sometimes like he was talking to himself, "I'm already dead." She began to sob, her makeup dripping from her brown eyes, she wiped the black hair out of her face. She was pretty, just like he was, though without the chubby cheeks and perpetually red skin, but she was an ugly crier. He had to get her to stop and he had to get her to leave. He was trying to get numb and she was killing his buzz, though he didn't feel one yet, prompting him to gesture to the bartender again. When the bartender filled his glass, she began to cry even more. It was a passionate, deep cry, as if she was grieving. He had to explain it to her, he had to calm her down. "I don't care that the world is ending," he said, "but I can tell you do." He would agree to go with her if only to calm her down, who knew if he would actually get on a spaceship. She was stressed, clearly in shock and he was just making it worse, so he continued, "When are we leaving?" She stopped crying suddenly, and sniffled, "Tomorrow, hopefully before they get here." "Cutting it close?" he asked, not actually caring, his only thought was the hope that he could get drunk in space. "His name is Renauro, he came here to save those that he could before the planet is demolished," she explained, "meet at this address, tomorrow at noon." She handed him a sheet of paper and then struggled to her feet, wiping her tears away. "I'll be there Sam," he told her, "I promise." He instantly wanted to take it back, he promised her? Why had he done that? He knew that his routine dictated that he had an appointment here at this bar at one tomorrow, so what had he done? "You better be or I'll drag you there, kicking and screaming," she said, punching him in the arm, hard, "that was for making me cry you idiot." Then she finally left. He watched her leave and when she was gone he turned to the bartender. "Another round," he said, "Why is this place open if what she says is true?" "I mean they all say there are aliens coming," he explained, pouring another round into the glasses, "but even if it was true, which it's definitely not. Just a hoax by the government to scare us and lower our vibration. If it was true, I still got bills to pay." David downed the shots, finally he was beginning to feel something. How much did he have to drink now to become buzzed? Or was it just the effect Sam had on him? Then the door opened again, he turned, angry that Sam had returned, he did promise her and he shouldn't have even done that. What more did he have to do to get rid of her? Then he noticed that it wasn't Sam at all, but a man dressed in a strange uniform of some kind, with a long red coat that drooped to his knees. Cut so that it swooped back behind him, making it appear like he had a tail. The man didn't wear normal pants, but red capris to match the coat. Everything was embroidered with intricate black weavings that appeared like veins stitched throughout the coat and trousers, and the man wore no shoes. The man approached the bar, the bartender stared at him stunned, as if he was culture shocked. David didn't move, this man looked like an alien, even if his dark hair and blue eyes, his sharp nose and curved mouth looked like a humans, there was an air about him. "I'll have whatever is the strongest," he said and then gestured for David, "and another round for my good sir." "What kind of accent is that?" he asked, it sounded like a butchered American accent, like he was from some country no one had ever hear of and was pretending to be from here. "What do you mean?" the newcomer asked, as the bartender poured them their drinks. "You're not from around here," the bartender said, nodding to the man, as he took a sip from the shot that was poured for him, vodka. "It's obvious?" he asked, looking puzzled, "I practiced it for weeks on my way here." "You're one of them," the bartender said, as he stepped back, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open, hitting the bottles, and knocking them to the floor. Normally he would be upset at the inventory lost, but instead he ran. Through the door to the back, and out of the back door as well. David smiled, dreams do come true. David walked behind the bar, and grabbed a bottle of whisky, taking off the cap, and taking a swig of it, "I've been thinking for years of ways to get one of them to leave the bar unattended," he said, laughing in joy, "who knew all it would take was an alien?" David was afraid too, but getting numb was all he cared about, he chugged the whisky. Fear could wait. "My name is," the man paused, taking another sip from his shot glass, what a strange sight, "well you can call me," he paused again to think this time, "Joseph." "Okay," he said, this man was so strange, he could call him Joseph? "Well you can call me David," he said with a laugh and a swig from the bottle. "Hello David," he said, "I was searching for you." He nearly jumped but instead decided to slump to the ground. Great just another person searching for him, come to kill his buzz too he assumed. "What do you want?" he asked angrily. "That's simple," he said, "I've come to offer you a favor." "I don't need anyone doing any favors for me," David slumped even further down, finishing the bottle with a chug, "If it's about leaving, I already got a ride." "No no," he said, raising his hand, standing up to get a better look at David on the ground, "this isn't about leaving, I can stop the invasion and you can stay here as long as you like." David laughed, standing up, not just to face the man but to procure another bottle, "And what do I have to do with this?" "Well you see," he said with a smile, "you're my weapon." "What do you mean?" "Alcohol is rot, death and poison," he explained, ripping the new bottle from David's hands, he nearly jumped over the bar and hit Joseph but then he remembered where the man was from, "and with the right tools blood alcohol content can prove to be quite useful as weapons." "Do I have to do anything that requires anything other than drinking?" he asked, he had to know what he was required to do. "Actually," he said with a smile, "no you don't." "What?" David was confused, as the man handed the bottle back to him, having opened it for him, and he took a sip. "In fact, I need you to drink far more than you normally do," he explained, "I have a machine that will turn your blood into a poisonous gas, that we can use to kill the aliens." "Okay," he said, chugging the bottle, finishing it in one tip of the bottle, "I'm the man for the job." With that Joseph stood up and began walking to the door. He turned around and added, "I'll see you tomorrow at noon." David was alone, and his task was simple. He had to drink more than he ever had before and he had to do it to save the world. He imagined Sam's face when he tells her that his drinking saved the world. He locked the bar, people would definitely come to drink, it was the end of the world after all. He had to make sure they knew it was closed. Alone with his best friends, the bottles behind the bar, David blacked out. Something hit him hard in the ribs, he groaned. His head was pounding and his face was wet with his drool. He didn't want to open his eyes, he just wanted to stay laying on the bar but the hard object hit him again in the ribs. He opened his eyes to see the alien standing over him, cane in hand, ready to hit him with it again. "Enough he said," his throat was so dry, he hated waking up, every day was the same, headache, dry mouth and nausea. It hurt to talk and so he said nothing else. "It is done," the man explained, "I came at noon to collect your blood." "What do you mean it's done?" he asked, "Did the aliens come?" "They did," he said, solemnly, "and now they're dead." "I saved the world?" "Well I did, you were just the weapon," the man said with a smile. "Well let's celebrate," David said, his drinking had saved the world, he was ecstatic, he climbed off the bar and grabbed a bottle and two glasses. He poured them both a shot of vodka as he laughed in joy. There was a reason other than becoming numb that he drank last night and finally, for the first time in his life he felt fulfilled. "Oh no," Joseph said, upset over something, sorrowful, as if something had gone terribly wrong, "Did I leave that part out?" "Leave what part out of where?" he asked. What was he talking about? David took a sip and his body instantly rejected it, puking it back up all over the bar, and all over Joseph, "What is going on?" He was furious, that had never happened before, there was something seriously wrong. What did he do to him? "I was meant to tell you," Joseph explained, "the machine interacts with your blood, it doesn't just extract it, it transforms it." "What are you saying?" "It makes it so that your body rejects alcohol," he explained, David refused this, taking it as a challenge and took another sip, forcing it down, through the gagging he was doing. "See," he said, holding up the bottle, he could feel his eye, he had popped a blood vessel to force it down, "I can still drink." He would not let this craziness steal his only peace away from him. "I'm afraid," Joseph said sorrowfully, "even if you do manage to keep it down, your body won't metabolize it. You'll never be able to get drunk again." David cried, just as his sister had earlier. He was grieving, his pain grew, and his stomach forced the alcohol out of him, he projectile vomited, and his pain only grew. He could never drink again, he'd never be drunk again, he would never be numb again. He had lost his best friend and the grief threatened to overwhelm him. Then a hand was placed on his shoulder and anger overwhelmed him. He had killed it, his best friend, the numbness, he was a monster and David would have his revenge. He turned around, ready to beat on the man who had stolen everything from him, but only found Sam there, waiting for him, "Did you hear the news?" she said with a smile, "the aliens are all dead, we were saved by some hero. So I guess that means you can live your life here," she gestured to the bar, "like you wanted." This broke him and he fell into Sam's arms, feeling the pain he had been avoiding for so long.