Submitted to: Contest #308

The Lonely Shepherd

Written in response to: "Write a story in which the natural and the mystical intertwine."

Fantasy Romance Urban Fantasy

“Are you going to cry on my shoulder or what?” the bartender asked.

“What’s the point?” I shrugged, looking down.

“Just human interaction,” the bartender said as he wiped another champagne flute. He arranged them in a sparkling row. Then his finger glided along the golden rim of one, and the flute emitted a divine moan.

“Okay, here’s your interaction,” I sighed. “My wife left me for my best friend. They took our money and the business.”

“Ouch!” he said. “It sucks!”

“Yeah… Today, I’ve lost everything.”

“Not everything,” the bartender replied. “You’re still alive.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” I said and finally looked at him.

With long wavy hair in a ponytail, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, he was so skinny he seemed almost transparent. His huge eyes, filled with sorrow as if they had seen all the world’s tragedies.

He nodded, poured a little water into each flute from a decanter, and started to play a melody on them. It emerged slowly, like a chick from an eggshell, breaking out of rhythm, with some notes lingering too long, interspersed with pauses, as the bartender tried to figure out the right glass...

But suddenly, I recognized the melody and shivered. “The Lonely Shepherd.” It was our melody – mine and Rena’s, her favorite. And here, emanating from the thin glass, it was utterly otherworldly. It seemed incredible to me that the guy didn’t hit a single false note, as if he had practiced for years. Maybe he had?

Suddenly, the melody broke off at mid-note.

“Listen, we’re closing up,” the bartender said, fixing himself a drink.

I looked around and realized we were alone.

“Maybe I can pour you something? On the house,” he added, taking a sip.

“Cyanide?” I replied quietly.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Music by James Last already filled my head, the panpipe weaving its divine notes, blending mortal longing with heavenly love. I didn’t notice when a tall glass filled with a poisonously blue shining liquid appeared before me.

“What’s this?” I hesitated.

“Does it matter?” he shrugged.

“Nope,” I nodded and swallowed it in a few gulps.

A soft sweetness enveloped my mouth, a gentle warmth settled in my stomach and radiated throughout my body. My head seemed to float away, and I felt unexpectedly light and at ease.

“What is this?” I asked, regretting I hadn’t ordered this a couple of hours earlier.

“Let’s go,” said the bartender. “I need to close up.”

I stepped out into the nasty, very cold drizzle, but I didn’t care—I carried this warmth within me. And the music. And the memories. How happy, wild, and drunk with love we were. And when she disappeared, it was as if the light had been turned off in my life. Yes, some time later, there were other women, and eventually even marriage... But it all felt so empty.

The flute lamented within me—louder and louder, sending clusters of goosebumps down my spine. It was as if the ashes had been blown off my soul—the music stirred up both old pain and old joy. Life itself.

I turned to thank the bartender. I saw him stepping out in a coat, locking up the bar, and approaching me...

What happened next, I didn’t understand at first. Then it was too late.

His thin hand landed on my chest and pushed me straight onto the road. Staggering and flailing my arms, I took a few steps into the blinding light of oncoming headlights…

At first, there was music. A soft melody meandered through the depths of my subconscious until the sensation of cold fingers emerged. Someone’s hand rested on my feverish forehead, bringing heavenly bliss.

I opened my eyes. A paramedic leaned over me and gasped.

“Andrew!”

“Rena,” I whispered. “Rena, is it really you?”

I didn’t want to say anything else. Yet, so much had built up, so much pain, that I continued whispering, rushing to say everything, afraid she would disappear again.

“Rena, my dear, I’ve been searching for you. I searched so hard, but you vanished... Why? Forgive me, please forgive me. I must have done something wrong... I was young and foolish...”

“It’s me who should be asking for your forgiveness,” she replied with a guilty smile. “I left for another man. And he turned out to be... Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Please forgive me. I thought things might be better elsewhere... I left everything, moved here. I wanted to call you, but was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me...”

“Rena, I am so happy... To have found you again... I love you so much…”

I couldn’t understand how we ended up on that street again. It was surreal to see the same bar, the same dimly lit room.

“Wait,” I said, “Just a minute,” and went inside.

“We’re closing,” the girl behind the bar announced. She was stocky, wearing also white t-shirt but adorned with tattoos and multicolored hair.

“Your bartender pushed me under a car,” I told her. “I broke an arm and some ribs, and got some bruises.”

“In the bar?” she asked, lazily eyeing me and blowing a pink bubble with her chewing gum.

“No, I told you, he pushed me under a car. Outside. Three months ago.”

“Did you report it?”

“No, an ambulance took me away.”

“Which bartender?”

“Tall, skinny, long hair...”

“We don’t have anyone like that. It’s just me, Letty, and Den, and he’s small, fat, and bald.”

“But that bartender served me, then locked up the bar...”

“Oh, you had a drink?”

“Of course, that’s what bars are for.”

“Someone treated you, and you mistook him for the bartender. Go tell the police. We’re closing now.”

I looked around, and a sense of déjà vu filled me. The bar was almost empty; the last few patrons had already disappeared into the cold night, leaving behind only a single drunkard pleading for one last free drink.

“Didn’t you like it?” a quiet voice asked from behind.

I spun back. The skinny young man in white t-shirt and jeans was sitting at a table behind me, his huge eyes filled with sorrow, as if they had witnessed all the world’s tragedies.

“You pushed me...”

“Didn’t you like it?” he repeated.

The absurdity of the question left me in a stupor.

“I mean the outcome,” he clarified. “One doesn’t happen without the other.”

I remained silent, struggling to grasp his meaning. He continued:

“If you’re not satisfied, try again.” He slid the blue cocktail towards me. “This one will revert everything to how it was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before the first drink.”

He stood and walked out of the bar. But not into a door but straight into a wall. And the last moment I noticed transparent wings unfurling behind him, spreading wide and turning white softly dissolved through the walls like a fog.

The tattooed bartender glanced at me and tapped her wristwatch.

I nodded at her and looked at the table. In front of me was the same poisonously blue shining cocktail.

I even recoiled. And suddenly, I was seized by terror. It was as if a flame had ignited in my head. And in my stomach. And in my soul. What if all this was a dream? A hallucination? And Rena was just a figment of my imagination? And now, if I go out to the street and... And everything is the same as it was before. Before that first drink…

The last tipsy patron approached me, eyeing the glass greedily:

“Man, can I? If you don’t want it...” – and he already reached out for the drink.

“Yes, yes, take it,” I woke up as if from a trance and pushed the cocktail away from me.

And I dashed out of the bar, terrified that I would see an empty street. And stopped in relief.

Rena was standing under the porch awning, scrolling through her phone.

“Listen, I found it. Remember that melody?”

And the heavenly flute of the lonely shepherd filled the night.

“I remember,” I said and took a relieved breath, trying not to show it.

She took my arm, and we walked on, listening to the music and the rain.

Posted Jun 26, 2025
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