FREE STORY The Last Call

In the small town of Willow Creek, there was a bar called The Rusty Anchor. It was a cozy little spot, nestled between a bakery and a bookstore, and it was well-known for its warm atmosphere and even warmer patrons. On a Friday night, the bar was alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft hum of music from the jukebox.

Jake Thompson, a regular at The Rusty Anchor, walked in after a long week of work. At 38, he was a middle school teacher who had dedicated his life to shaping young minds. But tonight, he needed a break from his responsibilities and the pressures of adulthood. He stepped up to the bar, greeted by the familiar face of Mike, the bartender.

“Hey, Jake! The usual?” Mike asked with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, make it a double,” Jake replied, his voice slightly heavier than usual. He had been looking forward to this moment all week, wanting to forget the stress that had piled up like papers on his desk.

As the night wore on, Jake found himself downing drinks faster than he intended. Each shot of whiskey washed away the weight of his responsibilities, and soon he was laughing loudly, sharing stories with strangers, and playing darts with a few locals. The world around him started to spin, but in that moment, he didn’t care. He felt free.

“Let’s do another round!” Jake shouted, raising his glass high. His friends cheered in agreement, and the night blurred into a haze of laughter, music, and the comforting warmth of alcohol.

But as the clock approached midnight, the atmosphere began to shift. The laughter grew louder, but so did the arguments. Jake noticed a couple at the other end of the bar, their voices rising as they exchanged heated words. He turned his attention back to his friends, trying to drown out the tension with another drink.

“Jake, maybe you should slow down,” one of his friends said, concern creeping into his voice.

“Slow down? Not a chance!” Jake laughed, pouring himself another drink. He felt invincible, a king on his throne, with his loyal subjects around him.

But that feeling quickly turned. The room began to sway, and Jake’s laughter faded as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. He stumbled toward the restroom, gripping the wall for support. In the mirror, he barely recognized the man staring back—his eyes were glassy, and his face was flushed.

After splashing cold water on his face, Jake took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But as he turned to leave, the couple he’d noticed earlier burst through the door, arguing louder than ever. In a moment of confusion, Jake pushed past them, accidentally bumping into the man.

“Watch it!” the man snapped, shoving Jake back. The alcohol in Jake’s system fueled his bravado, and he shot back, “Why don’t you take it easy?”

What started as a drunken disagreement quickly escalated into a shouting match. Before he knew it, they were outside, voices raised in the cool night air. The situation spiraled, and within moments, a few bystanders stepped in to separate them.

Jake felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him as he realized how foolish he had been. The adrenaline subsided, and the alcohol took hold again, leaving him feeling shaky and vulnerable. He stumbled back toward The Rusty Anchor, feeling the weight of his choices.

Inside, the atmosphere had changed. The laughter and music felt distant now. Jake took a seat at the bar, his head spinning and his heart heavy with regret. Mike, noticing his change in demeanor, approached with a glass of water.

“Here, take it easy,” he said softly. “You’ve had enough for one night.”

Jake looked around the bar, seeing the faces of friends and strangers, and felt a wave of realization wash over him. The joy he sought through alcohol had led him to an embarrassing confrontation, reminding him that running from his problems only made them worse.

As he sipped the water, he decided it was time to call it a night. He glanced at Mike and said, “Thanks for looking out for me. I think I needed that.”

With a newfound clarity, Jake stood up and made his way to the door. The night air felt refreshing against his skin, a reminder that tomorrow was a new day—a chance to face his responsibilities head-on, without the haze of alcohol.

As he walked home, the stars twinkled above him, each one a promise of a brighter tomorrow, free from the shadows of the past night. And in that moment, he knew he’d be back at The Rusty Anchor, but next time, he’d savor the drinks, not drown in them.

As Jake walked home, the crisp night air cleared his mind and sobered his thoughts. Each step felt lighter, almost as if the burdens he had carried were slowly being lifted with the night breeze. He reflected on the events of the evening—the laughter, the camaraderie, and the unfortunate confrontation that had left a sour taste in his mouth.

When he reached his small, modest apartment, Jake took a moment to lean against the door, breathing deeply. Inside, the silence enveloped him like a warm blanket. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft glow across the living room, illuminating the scattered textbooks, lesson plans, and half-finished essays strewn about. They were remnants of the life he had dedicated himself to, but tonight they felt like reminders of why he needed to make a change.

Jake sank onto his worn-out couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair. What had he become? A man who used alcohol as a crutch rather than embracing the struggles of life head-on. The reflection in the bar mirror had shocked him, revealing more than just a drunken visage—it revealed the deeper issues he had tried to ignore.
Morning light streamed through the curtains, pulling Jake from a restless sleep. He groaned, blinking against the brightness, his head pounding like a drum. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the weight of the previous night’s decisions hanging over him.

As he made his way to the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water, hoping it would chase away the remnants of his hangover. The kitchen was filled with an eerie stillness, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Jake glanced at the fridge, noting the colorful magnets holding up pictures of his students. A smile tugged at his lips—these kids were the reason he loved his job, and yet, he had allowed his drinking to overshadow his passion.