Suzu,Kira Kira,Shiruku,Go en,Inrou…Miso kusuri ka.
Little bell, glitter, silk, five yen, Medical pouch…Soup potion?
"Look at me" ordered the bell. I was obedient and cast my eyes downwards at the tinkling bell on my wrist. Now we all know that bells don't talk, maybe I'm mad. But this bell had a voice, lively but with a soothing tone to it, my voice as a child. The dented, no-longer-shiny bell, bound to two thin ribbons, intertwined like lovers, tinkled. Such a petty noise, it was so childish of me to keep wearing this bracelet. I don't remember ever taking it off.
I twisted it around 90 degrees or so, around my petite wrist. And traced my fingers around the deep burgundy ribbon and then onto the aquamarine one. All whilst contemplating the lone bell, fastened to the contrasting bands.
It was strange yet remarkable, how I heard a small bell chime, out of the rowdy commotion in which I was surrounded "Come-Come" bar was unusually crowded today with keen visitors, young boys, travellers, aged-men, lustful women wearing tasteless clothing, looking in the wrong places for Mr. Right to appear.
"Hey, you" he pointed at me, shifting his weight onto the counter with his right arm; I shifted my head back, astonished with the type of impolite talk and body language. "Oh yeah," I reassured myself "he's already drunk".
"Can you get me a drink…a-a-a," he slurred "oh yeah? That's right. A bottle of sake!"The rude man spat out, content that he remembered what he wanted.
I didn't even bother responding to this ill-mannered customer, I headed towards the shelves, admired the neatly stacked gleaming glasses, bent down, and opened the fridge.
The multi-colour, differently shaped, bottles were tidily arranged. I picked up one at random. As if this graceless brute would notice the difference, let alone appreciate the different types of beverages. He was so drunk, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and I was a metre away…
My name is Akane Shimizu; I work part-time behind the counter of the bar.
Unfortunately, the customers fix their deviant eyes on my figure, instead of their drinks. What is up with that? Why don't they talk to the women who drool over these types of men?
The very thought of it, made me cringe, and sent a cold shudder down my spine.
I'm not just a bartender, I help entertain guests. Every Tuesday,Friday and Saturday at 11:00 pm, I sing and dance with my friend on the slightly-raised stage. The stage hasn't been washed in three years, let alone polished. The stage is nothing but disheartening, but it's a stage nonetheless.
I shook my head at the thought of it, and some small strands of my hair tumbled messily on my forehead. Glitter golden specks fell gently, ever so softly, to the floor, staining it forever, as knowing this bar. The floor would never be mopped.
I stared at the glitter, mesmerized by the light bouncing off into multiple directions, and the reflection of a curious young woman in the glitter's façade.