No light ever crept through the barred windows at the reception area of the Lotus Motel, and there was no electricity to luminate the shattered bulbs. The motel owner had only the glow of dim candles to guide him in sweeping the floors and dusting the front desk. The room was small, so small in fact that it could barely fit the desk and the chair, Still, it took him the better part of an hour to clean the whole room, or at least he thought it did. He could clean for days, and he’d think only minutes have passed. The large metal front doors creaked open. It was one of his tenants, but which one? He checked his notes, which were strewn messily over the front desk. He believed this one was named... Gary? Well, it’s not as if “Gary” would know the difference. The motel owner set his broom down in the corner and motioned “Gary” to come inside. In the dim light, the motel owner could see his eyes were red and puffy, and his skin was an ashy gray. Nothing some lotus tea can’t solve, the motel owner thought. Gary leaned against the wall. Well, more like he fell against the wall. He crouched onto the ground, holding his head. “G-Go, go get me some tea,” he said while fighting for breath. The motel owner nodded and brought him a cup. He drank it all in a gulp. “Thank you,” he said panting. The motel owner offered him a hand up, but Gary waved it away. “Not enough strength yet. Ya’ got more tea?” “I always have more tea, but do you really want to stay on the floor?” “Unless ya’ got another chair.” The motel owner sighed. “More tea then.” He fixed Gary another brew, who again gulped it down, nearly choking once. Still, it managed to rejuvenate him enough that he stood up, though still leaned against the wall. “Thanks. Again. I need my strength if I plan on taking the girl in one-twelve out to dinner.” The motel owner raised an eyebrow. “There’s a tenant in one-twelve?” Gary nodded. “You wouldn’t remember ‘er. She came in some time ago and hasn’t talked much to ya’ since. She’ll still be in your notes though.” The motel owner made a note in the back of his mind. “Still though, you think you’ll remember to go? You might forget her.” Gary shook his head. “Nah, not this one. This one’s a real beaut’. She’s like those Hollywood actresses, only prettier. No man’ll forget her face no matter how forgetful he is.” The motel owner chuckled. “Like what you ‘bout Nora?” Gary blinked. “Who’s Nora.” The motel owner shrugged. “Well, clearly she wasn’t a Hollywood beaut.” They chatted more, and every now and again the motel owner would brew them some lotus tea, while the daylight waned. The arrival of three guests, however, happily informed them through moonlight. “No room,” the motel owner said. “Find someplace else.” “Uh actually,” Gary interjected. “I think poor Miss Harper might’ve left us.” The motel owner’s eyes widened. “Really? Miss Harper?” Sadly, Gary nodded. The motel owner sighed. “Goshdarn, I liked that woman. Old and batty, but a great conversationalist.” The motel owner looked back at the men who just arrived who were all staring with odd expressions. “Room ninety-seven’s free,” he said quickly, “though you’ll have to share a bed. Hope you don’t mind.” The middle man nodded and cautiously approached. Him and his companions wore some sort of foreign military uniform, but his was the most decorated of the three. The motel owner logged it in the back of his mind. “This place partisan?” the man asked. The motel owner raised an eyebrow. The middle man groaned. “Whose side are you on?” “I, I don’t follow.” “You don’t follow? You didn’t notice the war outside?” “I… don’t follow politics?” The man shook his head. “Neutral then,” he extended out his hand. “I’m Ulysses.” The motel owner tentatively shook it. “I’m the motel owner. That’s all you need to know,” he went behind the front desk and grabbed out a notepad. “Now, what are the names of your two companions.” Ulysses pointed to a big hairy man on his left, “Phil. Never call him Phillip,” on his right stood a lean and lank redhead, “that one’s Augustus. Goes by Gus. Need our last names too?” “No. First names are fine. They’re more for you than me.” Ulysses raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Now, before bed, anyone want some lotus tea? Our motel’s famous for it.” Ulysses shook his head. “No thanks. Gus, Phil, what about you two?” Phil nodded, but Gus shook his head. “Tea don’t let me sleep during the night. I’ll have some in the morning.” The motel owner nodded. “Only a cup then.” He quickly brewed a cup for Phil and handed it to him along with their room key. They left soon after. All was quiet, and the motel owner quickly remembered that Gary was still there with him. “Did you forget about your dinner with the lady?” the motel owner asked. Gary raised an eyebrow. “What lady?” The motel owner laughed. “Nothing bud. She clearly wasn’t that much of a ‘better than Hollywood beaut’.” They came back in the morning, so the motel owner thought. The big guy, Phillip if memory served, was holding his head in pain. The redhead was laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. “I can’t believe ya don’t remember yer own darn name, Philly! Funny though, I never took ya for a drinker.” Or… his name is Philly. Phillip or Philly? The motel owner went with Philly. “Philly” glared back at the redhead, then sighed and approached the motel owner. “More of that tea, please. Maybe it’ll help me get my head straight.” “And while yer’ at it, get me a cup too,” the redhead added, “I need something that’ll wake me up.” The motel owner nodded and fixed them both a cup. The last man, Ulysses, if memory served, impatiently checked his watch, while his comrades took their time drinking. Eventually, Ulysses snapped. “I’d like to see my wife before the next decade is over, if it would please you two!” Philly was either asleep or comatose, while the redhead was delirious. Nothing more tea can’t help. Ulysses however, was livid. “What do you put in that damn tea?” The motel owner scoffed. “The tea is not at fault! Clearly your companions caught a bug!” “Of course not, you goddamned fool! They weren’t like this until they drank your accursed tea!” The motel owner went to retort but found his mind gone empty. He stared out the large front doors that lead to the outside. He wondered why he didn’t go outside anymore. His tea couldn’t impede him from a nice night walk, or could it? No. That was heathen talk. The tea, his tea, wasn’t at fault. He found himself feeling lightheaded. He needed more tea. “Christ, I can’t feel his pulse!” The motel owner was suddenly pulled to attention. He stared down at the seemingly lifeless body of “Philly” on the floor. “I’ll get him some tea.” Ulysses grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t. You. Dare. Now help me get ‘em out of here and to the nearest hospital!” Ulysses shook his head. “There is no nearest hospital. He’s better off with some t-” “Don’t mention that tea again! Now help me get them out!” Reluctantly, the motel owner agreed. It had been the first time he had seen the sun in a long while. Something deep inside him made him want to stay out, but he went back in. Gary shuffled in not long after. “Saw the confrontation between you and the new guys. What happened?” The motel owner shrugged. “Leader was suspicious of my tea, asking me what I put in it and such.” “Well, what do you put in it?” The motel owner scratched his head, then laughed. “Funny enough, I don’t remember!”
about Bryana:
Bryana Lorenzo is a rising Junior at Boone High School in Orlando, Florida, and a Junior Editor at Polyphony Lit. Bizarre dramatic stories are her bread and butter, both for reading and writing. Her short fiction has been featured in Outlanderzine, and her articles are forthcoming at Voicevolic. You can find her on Instagram at @bryanastarwrites, or on Tumblr at bryanastar.tumblr.com
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