A.J.Dahms

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Richard as the sign came into view. “None of this stuff is real, you know.”

The couple stood before an old, three-storey construction, the lone wooden structure in a concrete-neon sea. Closer to a temple in appearance than the purpose it now served, no one could have guessed what it contained if not for the sign that ran across the door.

Bar Tarot.

“Oh, come on,” said Mia, leading him in. “It’ll be fun.”

An ocean of bodies and laughter, bright lights and pulsating beats awaited. A single bar ran the length of the far wall, several metal levers poking out of the top. Most striking, however, were the wooden panels above the shelves of spirits. Seventy-eight of them, had anyone cared to count.

“What’ll it be?” said the bartender as they took up a position along its length.

“We’re taking the spin,” said Mia, placing a pair of coins on the bar.

The coins disappeared as the bartender reached under the countertop. A sharp crank, and the wooden panels on the wall flipped over to display rows of pictures. Kings and queens, cups and wands, the sun and moon.

Mia placed a hand on the nearby lever and pulled.

As one, the panels began tumbling, turning over and over in a clacking, one-two cycle. Slowly at first, then growing to a feverish pace until, one by one, they stopped, reverting to their blank faces and only one remained.

The High Priestess.

A round of cheers arose as the counter served a glass containing a clear, golden liquid.

Mia wrapped a hand around it as the bartender reached under the counter again.

“Your turn,” she said.

Richard reached for the lever.

Once more, the panels began their dance, turning over until they revealed a panel in a different space than the first.

The Fool.

Scattered laughter rose from the audience this time as the dispenser served a glass of clear liquid.

“Tough draw,” said the bartender.

“I wanna go again,” said Richard, grabbing the man’s sleeve.

“The draw’s the draw,” said the bartender, eyeing the hand.

“I want to go again,” said Richard. 

“Come on, stop it,” said Mia.

“Everyone’s gotta accept their fate,” said the bartender. “The well never gets it wrong.”

“Never?” said Richard.

“Never,” said the bartender.

“Stop it,” said Mia again, tugging at Richard’s elbow.

The bartender drew away.

“Or what?” said Richard. “The spirits will be angry?”

“I’m serious,” she said as she led him away from the bar towards a row of booths on one side of the main room.

“You really believe all this garbage, don’t you,” said Richard.

“It’s not garbage,” said Mia. “It’s real.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Richard. “How d’you figure?”

“Once upon a time, an order of monks discovered a magic well beneath this very spot,” said Mia. “Over time, they learned how to harness its powers, distilling it for potions and remedies. When they gave up the building, the new owners kept the well intact, and that magic remains here today.”

“It’s some machinery and random counters,” said Richard. “That’s all.”

“It is not,” said Mia. “One time, a customer drew the Justice card. The next day, the police caught the man who’d murdered his parents decades ago. Another time, someone drew the Chariot. Then, as soon as they left the booth, they got a call telling them they’d won the lottery.”

“Only a fool mistakes probability for superstition,” said Richard.

“Then maybe you drew the right card after all,” said Mia.

He scoffed.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mia turned away, ignoring him as she entered a booth.

Richard entered his own, found a seat running around a round table with an indent in the middle fit for a glass. He sat down on the near side, shuffled around as an almost unnatural silence fell.

A brief shiver ran down his spine until he saw the material covering the walls – soundproofing.

“Hmph, some magic,” he said.

His attention turned to the liquid in the glass. To all outward appearances, it could have been water if not for a faintly sweet aroma. A swirl of the glass suggested the same.

“Ah, what the hell.”

He downed it in one go, slamming the empty glass on the table. As he did, the edge caught on the indent, drawing it into the middle.

The room went dark.

He saw a city – their city – as though from a great height. Tall towers above a neon ocean, the moon moving across the sky. It sped up as he watched, gaining speed until the stars became flashing streaks across the heavens.

Day came, then night, once more and again as the scenes turned into a dazzling ballet of death and rebirth. Towers grew and fell, first in designs that were familiar, then slowly changing as the cycles ran on.

A flash appeared on the horizon.

The buildings crumbled, turning into piles of rubble until, at once, it was night again on that unknown horizon and everything turned dark once more.

Richard gasped for breath as his eyes opened on the four walls of the room. The glass still sat on the table, the room as quiet as the moment he’d entered.

The only sound came from the beating of his heart.

He leapt up and raced for the door

“Hey, Mia!” he called as he grasped the handle. “Mia!”

He swung the door open and stepped outside, but the moment he came free, something caught on his foot.

He came to a stop.

Where the bar once stood, only a pile of rotten timber and mouldy concrete now remained. Dust, heavy and billowing, clogged the air. There were no other figures, no walls or buildings at all as far as the eye could see. Nothing but the shattered remains of a wasteland like the one in his vision.

“Mia?” he called.

Only silence returned, but it was very, very real.