She could concoct a potion of rhums and juices that made me forget my miseries. She called it Zombie and somehow it was befitting to the lounge where she was the bartender in residence.
There was always a radio tuned to some Caribbean short-wave station, and the flickering lights seemed to emulate regular hurricane brownouts. Every Friday I walked to this particular bar through snow and sleet, and it felt like I visited a bar in Kingston instead of Stockholm.
I always got the feeling that she knew more than mixing cocktails. We got talking about my failed relationship and how my wife had seduced my best friend. Now a cuckold without friends I opened up to her serene dark eyes, and drowned in them each visit, giving up more and more of my failed life.
One day she reached out and brushed my jacket tenderly, and saw the long blond hair that had stuck there a long time. She smiled and gave me my usual Zombie. It felt like I was relieved of a big chunk of lead, and that evening I returned to our cold apartment on light feet. The envelope with the divorce-papers I left unopened.
My wife’s brain tumour was virulent and nothing could be done, so I never became a divorced young man but a widower. My former friend left without any forwarding address.
I continued to go to the bar for my Zombies, and my bartender never said a word about how it all happened, but gradually a mutual understanding grew. We started to see each other also outside the bar, and my apartment was now alive with Caribbean music and exquisite rhum.
Now I’m married to my Voodoo priestess and I can assure you that I’m always faithful, but as an extra precaution I have changed my hairstyle. Actually my bald head make me look more manly, and I hope she still adores me.
Picture from wikipedia
This week trifecta challenge to write a story using Zombie, in the meaning of the cocktail.. Hope you enjoy.
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October 7, 2013
Björn Rudbergs writings 
sensual, sexy, romantic and heartbreaking too. I love the idea of the person who holds your secrets being the one that holds your hand eventually too.
*Hopeless romantics? Raises hand!*
🙂 ,, but there are risks in being married to a voodoo priestess.
not if you BEHAVE. *wink*
A mysterious love story. I really liked.
Thank you 🙂
Very well-written but great dark humour!!!
I really likes your story too.. I wondered if that umbrella was picked up from the drink 🙂
Great story. The progression is excellent!
Many thanks
A cocktail of loneliness, tragedy and love you’ve mixed us here, Bjorn. Nice write! Just goes to show you never know where those zombies (drinks!) will take you! Thanks for linking up!
Quite eerie… a mysterious tale. I found it more spooky than romantic. Very well written. I am still thinking about it. Ha! 🙂
I always really enjoy your writing, and this is no exception. Great job!
best,
MOV
Interesting story. I love the caribbean music brought into the apartment along with the bartending Voodoo priestess.
She mixes a very powerful Zombie potion indeed! Great piece of writing!
I like this. Great job!
I like how the character and reader are transported to another land. And the weight of the hair, like lead. Nice touches.
Even with how he became a widower, that’s a pretty adorable love story 🙂 A voodoo priestess, so far from home, I guess you can find home anywhere