This week Trifecta gave us the third definition of zombie:(n) : a mixed drink made of several kinds of rum, liqueur, and fruit juice –
There’s a definite Halloween theme going on here. I wasn’t sure what to do with that one. Again, I need to have a running story line, but my ADD brain resists! I was going to skip another week, but at the last minute checked in with Write on Edge: this week’s prompts — a quote, a background photo, and a mariachi cover of Ozzy’s Crazy Train by Metalachi. The Quote is from Rumi: “Anyone who knows me, should learn to know me again; For I am like the moon, you will see me with a new face everyday.”
This is not my most inspired, it’s a quick write without any edits. That’s probably because I had to dash it off quickly before I pack for my flight to Florida which is in four hours. Be sure to check out both Trifecta and Write at the Merge for some great entries and perhaps link up yourself.
Girl’s Night Out
What are you drinking?
What? (Derisive laughter).
It’s a drink with rum…
I know what it is. What is this 1987?
Her face dropped. There was definitely a change to her expression. I caught it. I felt bad. There I go again putting my foot in my mouth. Unintentionally throwing barbs, like friendly fire. There was silence between us as a mariachi band came into the room and began to plunder their strings. Cheryl was my oldest and dearest friend. I should apologize. I put my handbag under my stool and sat down. My lips parted. No words came out. A squealing “Yia, Yia!” punctuated the space around us. Cheryl raised a graceful hand and called, “Bartender!” Dumbly, I dipped a chip into the salsa bowl in front of me. A young girl in her twenties, with an assortment of piercings came over. She asked Cheryl what she could do for her. “A zombie for my friend here,” Cheryl placed her graceful hand on my slumped shoulder. She gave a gentle squeeze before releasing. She plucked a chip from the bowl and smiled at me before munching on it. I sat there like the sun burning up with anxiety, guilt and ineptitude. Cheryl beamed like the moon. She was steadfast in her orbit, yet not inflexible; she waxed and waned as befitted the times and pulled the tides along with her. She chose happiness over righteousness.