Pointless

You only live as long as you have points on your life license.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This short story is presented for personal entertainment only. Commercial and all other use is expressly prohibited.

(c) 2016-2017 Robert Horseman, All rights reserved.

Jen stepped into the Hawks Sports Bar to say hello to a friend who worked the afternoon shift, but paused when she saw an unshaven guy hunched over a drink at the bar. Something about him activated her radar, but she had no idea what it was. Normally she’d assume some new high-tech pheromone was at work, but he didn’t look like he was on the prowl. If anything, he looked like he was attempting to drown himself. She hopped up onto the stool next to him and caught the eye of Marcus, the bartender. Tipping her head in her new stoolmate’s direction, she said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You want tonic water with a twist?” Jen blinked in momentary confusion. “Um, sure, but add a splash of gin in mine. It’s hot out.” “You got it.” Without moving a millimeter, the guy next to her mumbled, “Don’t bother. I’m almost walking dead.” She nodded. “Well, that explains everything. What do you have left, twenty points or something?” “Five.” That stopped her cold, and her mouth hung open in surprise. If this guy so much as sneezed wrong, he would be the walking dead. She sighed. “That sucks man. You start life full of promise with your hundred points, and somehow it all dribbles away.” He turned his face sideways and glared at her. “Yeah? What would you know about it? I’ll bet you still have ninety points on your license. You still have your whole life ahead of you.” Telling a total stranger how many points she had left wasn’t something she ever did. But this guy was living far closer to the edge than she was. “Fifteen.” His head jerked, and he looked at her sidelong. “You’re kidding me.” She shook her head, pulled back her right sleeve, and turned her arm so he could see the inside of her wrist. The number fifteen glowed in green beneath her skin. “I wish I were.” “So this is your last ride too? Not enough points left for a rejuve treatment, so when it’s gone, you’re gone.” She pressed her lips together. “Jeez, what an attitude, although I can certainly relate. At least I have some margin left for medical emergencies. You have one and you’re toast.” He snorted. “Yeah, like that thought never crossed my mind before.” Jen turned to the bartender and said, “Hey hurry up with that G-and-T, Marcus. I think I need it.” Marcus squirted gin and tonic into a glass with ice, twisted a lime slice on the rim, and slid it down to her. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you sure he’s your type?” Jen rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, I think he is.” Jen turned back to her stoolmate, and held out her hand. “I’m Jen. Two rejuvs, two marriages, two divorces, and one major medical.” He turned fully in her direction, and Jen got her first good look at the man. Full brown hair, a stubbly beard, and an awesome chin. Not a bad looking guy. He took her hand and said, “I’m Larry, one marriage, three grown kids, one divorce, and one rejuve.” “Wow, three kids. That cost you sixty right there. You’re the first I’ve ever met with that many.” “The last one was wasn’t exactly in the plan. Took my last bit of points cushion.” His expression was sour. Jen nodded. “Yeah, well it’s the price we pay for rejuve treatments. They had to keep the population down somehow when rejuve came along. Couldn’t have everyone living forever.” “I wish they’d never invented rejuve. Society is ruled by the haves and have-nots now, and it’s not money. It’s the god-damn points. You even have to put it on job applications. We spend our lives peaking up wrists instead of skirts. What’s the fun in that?” Jen snorted in amusement. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Still, I think I have enough points left to be comfortable for a while. It’s futile for me to worry anymore, but I do anyway.” He grinned. “Futile? I think you meant to say pointless.” She rolled her eyes. “Ha. Almost funny. So tell me, why the toothless drink?” “Alcohol makes me do stupid things. I can’t afford to be stupid.” She nodded. “Got it. Very prudent of you.” “Man, if I had fifteen points like you, I think I could be happy again. Live out my last ride in Acapulco or something. I’m healthy and I’ve got plenty of money, so that’s not an issue.” Jen tipped her head and looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He bit his lip. “You caught that, huh?” She laughed and shook her head. “Kinda hard to miss. There’s only one way to gain ten points, and that’s marriage.” He paused a long moment, then said, “I know we don’t know each other, but neither of us has anything to lose.” Her jaw dropped open for a long moment, then snapped shut. The guy had a point, damn-it. She’d been taking anxiety pills ever since she’d hit fifteen points, and she was sick of it. She felt a visceral click, like a key turning in a lock, and her head slumped onto the bar. He held out a steadying hand and said, “You okay? Forget I mentioned it. It was a stupid idea.” She shook her head and grinned up at him. “Yup, very stupid. I accept.”

•••••The End •••••