It’s dark. The being can’t move. Pitch black. Suddenly there’s a light in the distance. Flickering light. It gets steady over time. The being comes closer and encounters a big door. This is the entrance to the bar. It knocks 3 slow knocks. It seems that nothing happens, but the door opens after a few seconds.
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It enters a dark, smoky joint, with no people other than the bartender, who stands behind a long, rectangular piece of hard wood that is the bar’s counter. It’s a normal bar, drinks and bottles adorn the back walls and shelves. The bartender cleans when the being approaches.
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Being: Hey, what is this place?
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Bartender: It’s a bar.
Being: I see.
Bartender: Yes.
Being: I don’t remember going to a bar…
Bartender: And still, here you are, standing in front of me.
Being: Might as well have a drink then.
Bartender: We don’t serve any booze.
Being: What? Why? I thought it was a bar.
Bartender: That’s what it seems, yes. In fact, it’s just a mask of sorts. A mask to cover the surface and allow us to begin. A means to an end.
Being: Begin what? What means to what end?
Bartender: You don’t quite get it do you?
Being: Guess not.
Bartender: The means: a cover in the form of a bar. The end: to converse. You and me.
Being: …
Bartender: You’re dead, amigo.
Being: I’m what?
Bartender: That’s what you beings always say when I tell you that you’re dead. ‘I’m what?’ I guess that’s understandable all things considered… but still, gets me every time. You died. This ‘bar’ is a projection of your own psyche to allow me to enter and converse with you, to answer any lingering questions you have before you move on… you know, further.
Being: Why a bar?
Bartender: You tell me. You probably view bars as a good place to converse. Otherwise you would have conjured something else. But you thought of a bar, so here we are. Not the most original of places, but that’ll have to do.
Being: What would you consider original?
Bartender: A forest clearing in the middle of the Amazon.
Being: Someone thought that would be a good place to talk?
Bartender: People died in the past as well. You know that, right? No smoke-filled joints like this one back then. A mold filled cave was the closest thing, I imagine.
Being: So, we’re in a bar that I thought of. And I’m dead. I still don’t understand the purpose of all this.
Bartender: I’m here to answer questions, or just talk. You know, converse. I don’t have all the answers mind you. Like the meaning of everything, purpose of life and/or death, what lies beyond this place… Think of me as a gatekeeper, the guardian of the in between, ruler of the threshold, monarch of lost souls on their way to the other side. Think of me as… Gary.
Being: Gary?
Bartender: Yes. That’s my name.
Being: Gary? Really?
Bartender: What’s wrong with that?
Being: Seems mundane. I thought the ‘guardian of the in between’ would have a cooler name.
Bartender: Gary is cool.
Being: Ok, if you say so.
Bartender: I do say so.
Being: Ok then.
Bartender: Right.
Being: …
Bartender: Well you’ve given me such hassle regarding my name, what’s yours?
Being: Good question. I… don’t really remember.
Bartender: He doesn’t remember. Typical.
Being: For who?
Bartender: For whom. For you.
Being: For me?
Bartender: So many questions. Sheesh. Would you like to choose one, or should I address you however I want?
Being: You can call me Placeholder.
Bartender: Ok Placeholder. What would you like to talk about?
Being: How did I die?
Bartender: Slipped on a banana peel. BAUMFH. Straight on your head. Dead.
Being: Really?
Bartender: No.
Being: Can you stop being so sarcastic? This is serious!
Bartender: I know. I’m sorry. It gets a little boring. During our little chat 27931 more people have died and it is I who need to speak with them. So, I try to have fun.
Being: How did I actually die?
Bartender: You really don’t remember?
Being: No.
Bartender: You… killed yourself. Gunshot plus head.
Being: Did I now…
Bartender: Suddenly I wish I could serve drinks here.
Being: I remember holding the gun. I was depressed for a long time. Didn’t really think I’d go through with it.
Bartender: Life can be hard I’ve heard. Unfortunately, you’re not the first or last to take their own life.
Being: Unfortunately? What do you know about being alive?
Bartender: Not much. Beings such as yourself almost always have that somber look on their face when they find out they died. So, I guess you were fond the stage before this one, AKA life?
Being: I don’t know. It’s not an easy answer. Sometimes I loved it. Sometimes I didn’t.
Bartender: I’m here if you want to elaborate.
Being: I… remember.
Bartender: What do you remember?
Being: My childhood. Running. Sweating. My mom’s cooking. The smell of my friend’s house. It’s all coming back now. Is this normal?
Bartender: I think so. Many of you tend to close their eyes and reminisce. It helps you cope.
Being: Where did it go wrong, I wonder…
Bartender: Early 30’s in most cases. Then it starts to ramp up by mid-40’s. And before you know it, you’re in a crossroads, making the ultimate decision. Should I keep going or did I have enough? Looks like you’ve had enough.
Being: The day before I did it… I was dreaming. I was alone inside the apartment building where I grew up. I walked up the staircase to the 7th floor. Highest one. I was floating, levitating towards the ceiling. We used to sit there and talk about the girls we liked from our class. Silly, naïve 11-year-olds. It felt like I’m coming back home, hovering there towards the heavens. It felt good.
Bartender: Seems like you prefer the dream state more than actual living.
Being: I think everybody has that feeling once in a while. I usually had it more. The thing is, I was constantly trying to replicate that feeling in everyday life. That was indeed impossible. I guess some people prefer living within their own heads rather than out of it.
Bartender: What’s so great about it?
Being: Can you imagine things?
Bartender: I can.
Being: You’re on a cloud flying over the Pacific Ocean. You and your loved one are together. You bought tickets and everything, on your way to a dream vacation. Why you need tickets is beyond you – you’re on a goddamn cloud. The wind is harsh against your face and you feel it intensely. It’s one of the best feelings you can ever have. Your loved one is behind you, holding tight, whispering things. Beautiful things. Things that can’t be said in the real world. You see everything from above. Waves crashing against the shore. Children playing. It’s all a mixture of white and pink haze that cover the horizon. You can’t believe you get to witness this with your own eyes. But you do, and you don’t. You land on the Victorian streets of dream London. It’s grey and cool. You think of it as home even though you’ve never been there before. But in your dreams, it’s home, no doubt about it. You scale the rooftops like a ninja. A couple is arguing in the apartment beneath. You listen for a brief period but go on your way quickly. You want to spend the rest of your life here. You want to cry, and you do because you’re so happy. Bliss is rightfully yours. You’ve earned it. Why shouldn’t you?
Then you wake up and the real world is nothing like the dream world. White and pink turn into sour and polluted brown. Everything is nice to be honest, nothing special. That’s the problem.
Bartender: But dreams aren’t real.
Being: That’s the depressing part.
Bartender: Is that why you put a bullet through your skull?
Being: Among other things, I guess.
Bartender: Other things?
Being: See this plant? With its bright green leaves? It will wither and die, eventually. A thought that’s hard to bear, yet once it sunk its fangs into your head, you can’t remove it. Like a bad tumor. The plant is all existence. The universe will wither and die. It’s the natural state of all things. Move here, go there, pay bills, work long hours, provide for your family. It’s not natural. Your body wants to decay. It wants to rest, and therefore die.
Bartender: Some say that between paying your bills and going to buy groceries, you get to play ball with your son, or braid your daughter’s hair. Hear the birds chirp. Eat a good meal. Happiness, or at the very least contention, can be achieved if you just take the time to breath and see. Some say, I wouldn’t know.
Being: It’s not easy, seeing things that way. Some are too rotten, too… far gone.
Bartender: Are you happy it’s all over?
Being: Just relieved. It’s too much pressure over there. And the abundancy of it all… don’t even get me started.
Bartender: Do start.
Being: Choice is good, but too much choice is evil. I was getting lost.
Bartender: Seems to be manageable by a little self-discipline.
Being: I’m not trying to rid myself of any responsibilities. It’s my choice in the end. Nevertheless, it was hard to navigate and resist these temptations. Made me numb inside. Things were too easy.
Bartender: So easy equals bad and hard equals good?
Being: To a degree. Personally, I derive meaning from struggle and hardships. If you take it away from the equation, you get never-ending comfort. A comfortable life is a shit life.
Bartender: What about you goals and aspirations? Did you manage to live up to some of them?
Being: I’m a walking cliché, my friend. I’m the guy who fantasized about scaling the highest mountain, just to reach the peak and see that there’s another one much higher looming in the horizon. Safe to say I did reach certain goals, just to find out I want something else altogether. It didn’t make me happy or content.
Bartender: You’re angry.
Being: Well, yes! I thought I’ll be able to breath once it was all over. Instead I’m standing here talking about the very things I was trying to escape from.
Bartender: You think it’s time to move on?
Being: Let’s wrap it up.
Bartender: I don’t know how to wrap it up. It’s always up to the being to decide when it’s time to move on.
Being: But I’m telling you – I’m ready!
Bartender: I’m still here, so that means you’re not. Maybe you need to resolve some issues before moving to the afterlife.
Being: What is this? A shitty tv show where the character is stuck in the world of the living until it resolves all of the lingering issues and problems it had with its fucking wife? Am I a fucking ghost? Do I look like a ghost? Just let me in man, come on.
Bartender: …
Being: I hope I’ll be a speck of dust. The speck will travel the cosmos, bending time and space. It will see unbelievable things; other galaxies, stars exploding at the end of their lives, reborn out of nothing. It will experience life on the grandest of scales. It will see the dinosaurs of old, travel to different times in human history, the speck, me.
That’s the problem. Consciousness. It’s consciousness the makes me feel guilty all the time. I want to be unconscious. Unaware. No responsibilities. No pressure. Just instinct. Who can blame me then? I can’t even blame me. I’m so tired…
Bartender: Do you want a second chance?
Being: At life? At living?
Bartender: Yes.
Being: You can… do that?
Bartender: Sure! Just drink this. A specialty of mine if I might add…
Being: You said you don’t serve drinks.
Bartender: I said we don’t serve alcohol. This isn’t alcohol. Go on. Give it another go. Try to make amends with yourself, with the world.
Being: Are you a figment of my imagination as well? Am I really dead?
Bartender: Take the cup.
Being: Ok.
Bartender: Hold it firmly.
Being: Yes…
Bartender: Now motion it upwards and angle it towards your mouth. You know, how normal people DRINK things? Liquid things?
Being: Like this?
Bartender: My word…
Being: There, it’s done.
Bartender: How do you feel?
Being: Same old miserable me.
Bartender: You sure? You went through a whole different life and you’re still miserable?
Being: I… did? I feel like I’ve been here all the time though…
Bartender: No, you drank the liquid and then you disappeared and came back after so and so years. Did you make amends? Did you live a life worth living? DID YOU MAKE IT?
Being: You’re messing with me, right?
Bartender: Yes.
Being: But wh…
Bartender: There are no second chances my friend! What did you think it was, a video game? ‘Let’s reload a save and try again, shall we?’ No. You had a shot and did what you’ve done. No returns. No going back.
Being: It’s not funny.
Bartender: Kinda is.
Being: Haven’t I suffered enough? Let me out!
Bartender: OHH NOOO. You come here with your sad stories and pitiful existence and all you do is whine whine whine! ‘Life was HARDDD oh wait no it was too EASYYYY oh I’ve scaled mountains and wanted to scale different ones WEEEEEEWWEEEEEE I WANT TO BE A SPECK!’.
Being: Specks are cool.
Bartender: I’ve had enough of this WHINE-FEST as well. Why are we still here?
Being: I guess the creator of this conversation doesn’t know how to wrap it up.
Bartender: It looks like he was trying to write a poignant, memorable conversation about the fabric of life, yet it looks like he’s trying too hard. Everything we say is forced and artificial. There’s no set up to the topic you try exploring. It’s all just… very bad.
Being: YEAH! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Even now! Try to salvage what’s left with this META commentary about YOURSELF and the WRITING PROCESS. It’s a cop out man. And a lazy one at that. It’s a lazy, unoriginal, terrible cop out and you know it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just… keep improving. Keep at it. Just erase us from memory because me and Gary here don’t like this shit at all!
Bartender: I didn’t even choose that name. He chose it for me!
Being: Typical…
Bartender: I would have chosen something way cooler.
Being: Sure, Gar…
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Bartender: You know he’s making us wait on purpose until he comes up with something decent to write.
Being: This existence is… brutal. Get it over with already. Press the big fucking X on top and DO NOT SAVE THIS SHIT. Let it goooooooo.
Bartender: I think he just saved again. I remember everything from before.
Being: God damnit.
Bartender: I think he’s about to cry.
Being: He never does learn from his mistakes.