all characters are mine, plot is mine.
songs/lyrics are NOT mine.
It's been sixty years since the day in that 1940's bar.
Thousands of moons have past.
Yet here, on this bar's counter sits the half-glasses, reflecting a new scene.
The dark, damp, smokey club plays a song sure to entrace all who hear it.
Hundreds of people dance like members of some tribe lost in time.
Copper and other metals glitter on their clothing like stars in the sky.
Gentlemen wearing tophats and goggles.
Women wearing corsets and gears as earrings.
A man sits at the end of the bar.
He looks as old as the hills and keeps checking his pocketwatch.
Strange as he seems, he doesnt feel out of place.
In fact, it feels as if everyone else is out of place and the old man is the only thing right.
His fedora is crisp and clean but his suit looks as if it came straight out of a grave, his shoes covered in mud.
His dull green eyes dart around in his skull, settling on the glasses on the bar only to flit back around the room.
The man listens to a song from a jukebox that doesn't exsist here.
He looks for a woman who will never come again.
And no one takes notice of him.
No one except one young girl.
She doesn't wear a corset or any gears in her ears.
Her hair hangs in black waves down around her shoulders and back.
Her golden brown eyes shine in the spotlights of the club.
At first she doesn't even see the old man.
Instantly she sees the glitter of the golden rimmed half-glasses in the lights.
Instictively she walks over to the bar and carefully picks them up.
"How lovely...." she breathes.
"You think so now. I've had them for around sixty long years now, and only I know their truth." the man's voice was stained with the tale of a tortured soul.
"Their truth? What do you mean? Its just a pair of really old glasses..... but they are exceptionally beautiful." her voice is confused yet enamored.
"Believe what you will, but only after you look through them yourself. Take them. Rid me of those damned things." with that the man got up and left the girl with the glasses.
Later that night, he left this world as well.
Iris awoke with a scream on her lips, her golden brown eyes were wide as dinner plates.
She could still hear it.
A scratchy old newscast and a song playing from an ancient jukebox.
She heard laughter and a woman talking excitedly.
Suddenly, as soon as it started, it was gone.
Iris took several long brethes and finally laid back down, it wasn't long before she had fallen asleep once more.
The half-glasses on her nightstand reflected an image of her room.
In the glasses' lens, a man with long ragged blond hair stood at the foot of her bed.
His perfect lips moved in a voiceless song as his blood-stained hand touched his dirty, shredded vest at where his heart was.