Multiple Midnights

New Year's Eve Fiction

The gunfire had a rhythm to it, somehow. Though the volleys were unleashed by strangers blocks apart, it could have been guitars and snare drums.

New Year’s Eve.

Freddy lifted his ginger ale with a wheel of orange on the lip of the pint glass. Silly, but celebratory.

“One year sober.”

Steph sipped her champagne in a plastic Cleveland Browns souvenir mug. She wasn’t hiding it from Freddy, just a bit of supportive camouflage.

“You stopped drinking on the 31st, but you had a buzz when you made the decision,” she said. “So really tomorrow would be one year of sobriety. Not to be a bitch. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m celebrating the clarity that happened, when I realized I had to walk away from that life. That was a year ago tonight.”

Gunfire crackled close by. It was no longer music, it was explosions and shock.