The Screwdriver. The Gravedigger. The Purple Nurple. The Long Island. The Birthday Shot. The Adios Motherfucker.
The Miscellaneous Death God.
“Don’t do it.” Claire leaned across the table as the entire club watched the viscous black liquid swirl and swish in the ornate glass bottle.
“Chug chug chug” the crowd continued chanting.
“The pot is ten thousand dollars!” DJ Jeremiah Red threw his hands up, and the demands that you chug the contents of the ancient alcohol turned into wild screaming cheers. The lights spun red yellow and green before a white spotlight hit you from above, making the audience vanish and putting the black smokey contents of the bottle writhe away from the light.
“Ms. Tapana has made it all the way to the final round! Who knows what the proof is on the Miscellaneous Death God, but we’ve been waiting for this moment!” DJ Jeremiah Red’s fingers flew across the soundbar, the speakers blaring “Are You Ready For This” from Space Jam before ending on a gutteral “HUH!” sound with digital distortion.
“For ten thousand dollars we can donate blood or something.” Claire was the last sober person in the whole place and it was because she was the best person ever.
You might be drunk.
“Pump Up the Jam” started playing, pounding in your ears as the amorphous mass of people on all sides started jumping up and down to the beat. Your hands came up to wave back and forth with them.
So you were definitely drunk.
“If you drink this I’m going to have to take you to the hospital.” Claire was already texting someone, probably boyfriend Kafre. You like Kafre.
“What?!” She shouted over the music and the crowd.
“I LIKE KAFRE!” You screamed back and for a second she looked lost. Then she sighed heavily, leaning closer so she could yell directly in your ear.
“ANNE YOU’RE A LESBIAN!”
“YEAH I AM!” Another huge roar from the crowd.
“DRINK THE DEATH GOD!” And Elian Roque had managed to squirm through the crowd, his rainbow shorts bunched up on his thighs since Jones’s hands were between them grinding their hips together to the song, which had transitioned to “Get Low” which seemed appropriate.
“DEATH GOD DEATH GOD DEATH GOD” went the crowd.
You raised the glass bottle into the air and the screaming intensified before DJ Jeremiah Red cut all sound from the speakers throwing a ringing silence over the whole place.
Everyone held their breath.
You made eye contact across the spotlight somehow with Riyoun Kai, her eyes squinting as she smiled. She winked.
You popped the cork off the glass bottle. A few scattered ‘woo’s echoed in the stillness.
A kind of wispy black smoke made its way out of the bottle. Maybe the drink was carbonated.
Across the way Riyoun licked her lips and wiggled her eyebrows. You held the bottle out in front of you, the intense eye contact drowning out Claire’s attempt at talking some sense into you through your drunken stupor.
You tapped the bottle on the table and took the whole Death God in one swallow. It tasted like pickle juice, apple cider vinegar, activated charcoal and vodka. Your head felt like it was full of cotton or maybe also vodka.
Riyoun Kai looked delighted as you made eye contact and slammed the bottle back down on the table.
Then the alcohol hit, everything went dark, and your last thought was: “I hope this Death God doesn’t kill me.”