The Search

She looped her recent catch around the fence and turned meaningfully to the guard who nodded in acknowledgment. Like most taverns that tried to hide themselves from power-hungry warlords, no music played, and no flashing lights identified itself as a beacon of liquid escape.

The former gas station turned moonshine distributor was her 37th stop in an exhausting quest to find the right drink to complete her life’s mission.

She wrapped her arm tightly in order to disguise her injuries, and she pushed open the door. The few patrons in attendance turned momentarily, but they quickly lost interest in the new visitor and began swirling their glasses with the hopes that they had more to drink than they really did.

The only watering holes left were illicit ones that found rotted crops to produce their own moonshine. A growing trend was to place found riches in the bottles of moonshine in order to increase their value. A thirsty visitor to the tavern might find a gold watch or bracelet after a copious consumption of burning alcohol. The award of jewelry after finishing a bottle could be traded for nutritious foods or luxurious comforts—challenging finds following The Conflict.

“Drink the entire bottle, and the valuables inside are yours,” the man behind the bar said with an intimidating smirk. “The love and loss in the gems will become yours. Be careful.”

“What about that bottle?” she asked, her eyes staring longingly at a large bottle of moonshine. A heart-shaped locket rested heavy at the bottom of the glass.

“It’s a trick, lady. Don’t do it,” a drunkard insisted.

She quickly glanced his way but turned back at the bottle and pointed. “That one.

“It’s a gimmick. You drink that entire bottle of poison, you die,” another patron warned. She paid him no attention.

“You sure?” the bartender asked with a smile.

She paused. A lizard of some sort whipped his tongue toward an insect and missed.. The slap of saliva broke the silence and was accompanied with the buzzing of the escaped prey.

The tavern shook as the man behind the bar slammed the bottle of moonshine in front of her. The bartender kept his hand on the bottle and smiled at her. She stared back, void of expression, and brought the bottle closer to her.

“Lady, don’t do it,” a man pleaded. He wiped his face clean of alcohol.

She ignored him, driven by months of searching for the right bottle. With the bottle at her lips, she turned to the others at the tavern who stared in wonder. Back to the bartender who couldn’t help but laugh about the tokens he would hoped to gain by her failure.

She emptied the burning contents into her mouth without a breath. Within seconds, she slammed the bottle to the bar, swallowed, and spit a heart-shaped locket into her worn hand.

The bartender frowned with disappointment. The patrons exploded into laughter.

“Lady, there’s no reason for such drinking,” an older man warned.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she responded.

She looked with pain at the locket and took a deep breath.

“What is it, lady?” asked the old man.

She smiled at the man and couldn’t help letting a tear fall from her eye and onto the soiled bar. Within her palm sat a moonshine-soaked. Her fingers shook with fear in anticipation of viewing what the insides of the heart-shaped locket had to express.

And with a click, she realized her quest was over. Months of downing painful gallons of moonshine into her body, from one side of the frontier to the other, were over.

Pictured in the heart-shaped locket was her husband and son, both lost during The Conflict.

“Will you sell this for greater treasures at a pawnshop, miss?” a man asked.

“I will quit drinking, sir, as you should,” she replied before walking from the dark and sad bar.