A siren with the inclination to enrapture those in her beautiful swan songs and a saint with the to salvage those who had fallen. A masterpiece is woven with the focal point centered in the glassy blue eyes of hers peering down into the mirror she held firmly in her grasp between her forefingers. Amused by all that went on around her, she curiously cast a glance around- more as if she were looking down on them. On the contrary, this wasn't the impression she had anticipated. As she locked eyes with the man across the bar from her, sneakily twiddling with her thumbs upon laying the mirror on the table, she presumed he would be there only for the cheap entertainment and drinks. His facial expression rang gloomily, his hands shakily grasping at his glass rang somber. As the music quieted down in the bar and the guests thanked the overly enthusiastic but mediocre band, the only thing that chimed then was the man's watch. Second, by second winding down and if she listened closely, she could hear it in her head. She slid some cash on the table after she lifted her glass full of poison off the table with her. She pranced over to the man who sat across the bar, resting a hand on his shoulder as she spoke. "Bar's not your typical setting?" He let out a soft chuckle and kept his eyes fixated on his own glass of poison almost as if the drops along the rim were more interesting than she was. He nodded his head slightly before tapping his chin almost as if he had to strike up the perfect response back. "Well, what about you? I saw you sitting alone as well." She rolled her eyes and let the hand on his shoulder droop down to her side before bringing up her arms in a crossed position. "Yeah well, what can I say? Only a few people catch my attention." He took a sip from his glass with yet another nod as he listened to her speak. "Well, go on. What brings you here?" She inquired, almost menacingly, except for the sly smirk on her face. "They say you can't find Jesus at a bar, I wanted to test that theory. Thus far, have not seen him." He had a few drinks scattered along the table and the way the servers spoke to him made her believe he was a regular there. If this was the case and so was she, why had she just recognized him now? She shrugged off the solemn response he gave her and instead gave him a makeshift of her own to lighten the mood. "Sinners have more fun." She crept her hand back up to his shoulder to which he now brushed it off. She was clearly intoxicated, even more, was he. Clearly, he could hold his liquor better than she could. He closed his eyes as he then turned around to look up at the woman. "Maybe sober ones." He stood up, taking out his wallet and putting some money on the table. He grabbed his jacket and slid it on as she scanned his face with a pout. "Just like that? Going to leave?" He flashed her a grin and chuckled again, "Have you honestly got no idea who I am?" And as she stared into those eyes of his that were reminiscent of the purest of emerald, it finally struck her. "Evan." She spoke the name as if it brought her more dread than happiness. How could she forget? He incessantly would bother her for hours on end constantly until they eventually fell off. "Bingo." He tilted his head and took a tarot card out of his pocket. He had a weird knack for things, always had. He held the card between his index finger and thumb and laid it on the table. It was a card that inexplicably had death sprawled on it. Looking closely at it, she recognized that the card wasn't actually a professional-looking card. Instead, it radiated the impression that a 5-year-old put it together and a dog chewed up the edges. "Honestly. If I were a fortune teller or... whatever they call those things..." He turned to her once again, "Do you think I'd actually make a living off of it?" She shrugged and looked away for a moment before turning her attention back on him as he awaited her answer. "Yeah, maybe. But why would you want that?" His voice lowered down slightly as his lips pursed, trying to find the right words to say again. He was quite careful with the things he would reveal to her. "I suppose my prior escapades never faired me well, why not give more odd jobs a shot?" She knew he wasn't nearly as qualified to do any of what he was rambling off about and it seemed now as if it were a role reversal. As if she were suddenly sobering up now and he was getting progressively drunker. Subconsciously, she put her hand on the card and covered up the word death. She met his eyes again, "So, death. Funny, I suppose. When do you think yours will be?" She asked with a faint laugh. He moved the card from under her hand and slid it back in his pocket. "Speaking like a true ex-girlfriend, huh? Wanting me dead seems to be a common trend." To her own accord, she smiled. "Yeah, is that so? Not like you were a total dick obsessed with self-improvement huh?" He pondered over that thought for a minute which to her, felt like a decade drowning in his temporary silence. In his head, after all, he did think to a certain extent he was a God. "Call it a complex, if you prefer." He zoned out until her voice snapped him back to reality. "Evan?" The voice toned down into a deeper one. "Evan." He awoke finally, shifting for a few minutes before he opened his eyes. Suddenly, he was no longer in that bar. Doctors hovered over him from all corners of his eyes, and one sat perched in a chair taking notes. "Can you hear us?" They looked down at him now, as if he were just some lab experiment. "I- huh... yes." He leaned over and coughed and quickly he felt the needles taped to his arms move with the rest of his body. The doctors were fast to move with him, making sure he didn't hurt himself as he moved. He looked confused, wondering how the hell he even got there. "Listen uh... doc. Doctor... Doctor uhm..." He scanned the doctor's shirt to figure out his name but after he failed to notice one, he just kept with the alias of doctor. "Listen, Doc. I don't know why I'm here; I know I'm not fucking sick so. If you could let me out of here maybe we could grab a drink together you know I was just at a bar-" The doctor cut him off, shaking his head. "Have you lost all recollection of time? Evan. You've been here for the past few years." He looked even more bewildered at this, sitting up. Some of the needles ripped off him as he did, and he shuddered. The word schizophrenia slipped past the lips of the man sitting on the chair. The noise of his pencil against the paper sprawling word after word seemed so loud in his head and he brought his hands up to cover his ears. Evan applied pressure to his ears forcefully trying to drown out the noise in some half-assed attempt before tapping at his temples. "Evan... Evan.." He heard the voices as if they were miles away now as he ended up collapsing back to the hospital bed. He wanted to be back in the bar forgetting all things, was it even all real? If they were tricking him into thinking he was schizophrenic... But each time he closed his eyes, he was back at the bar. Each time, with a familiar face that greeted him while he was there. Same setting, different memories he conjured up there. He delved into it every day he was there but then would stop questioning once they forced him to down his meds. Each time he remembered however, it filled him with a sense of determination. He would lose himself rapidly in the thoughts that transpired of which even if the people were real in his dreams. What if these individuals needed his help, which he would see in his dreams were worse off than others? He was eerily convinced each time that he could be someone for them and until he woke up, he lost that satisfaction. He was even more convinced that they could coincide with his reality. He knew the place seemed sketchy, but it was all he was good for residing in, according to society.