Chapter 1: One Large Latte for Casanova

  I entered the coffee shop, lit by warm lights; you could smell the coffee beans brewing. The barista yelled, ‘One large latte for Casanova,' as he looked at me approaching him. I was wondering who in the world even names their kid Casanova but then proceeded to order a Spanish latte and sat down at a table not very far from the ordering counter, not that I cared for the waiters bringing it; it was just near me and empty.

  I was about to have my latte when the waiters started distributing a note to every table. I took it, thinking it was a new way of handing out the bill for the order. The paper had an old book texture; opening it, I read, ‘From this point on, ANY liquid you spill will reduce your lifespan by 1 year.' Like any sane person, I smiled and flipped it, looking for the punchline of the joke, though looking at the barista, who looked like he was about to shit himself, made me a bit unsure.

  The people around had a similar realization, though the feeling of doubt was soon eradicated as an attention-seeking teen threw his cup and started saying, "What a boatload of cra—" The words couldn’t come out of his mouth, and he started screaming in pain, “AGHH!! ”.

  Everyone was terrified of the sight before them; the boy’s arm looked like it was burning, the area around it red as though he had slept on it with his head. After the boy calmed and released the part he had covered with his other hand, it read in red "-1."

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  People started getting away from their drinks. The barista had already fainted, probably thinking about the espresso he spills every time. A child started crying, and as I was thinking tears may count as well, their mother wiped them off hastily. A couple started arguing if kissing counts. Amidst all of the chaos, there was an old man who looked like he’d die if he breathed hard enough, and he was casually sipping his tea, probably because he’d already lived his life and all this was fun to his gray life.

  Then it hit me, I thought to myself, “The statement says ANY liquid…”, my mind started racing for the possibilities, ‘Does blood count?’, ‘What about sweat?’, ‘If someone spills a liquid on me, do I lose a year or do they?’. As I was wrestling through these questions, someone I’d definitely call a psycho said “That means if I make you spill it, you would lose a year!” and pushed someone with their drink.

  The people watched in awe, the cup’s lid fell off, the drink started trickling off the cup, as the cup rolled I could make out the name, it was Casanova. The guy screamed and cried with pain as ‘-1’ was engraved on his arm, just as he was about to calm down, his tear dropped on the floor, he screamed more, the right arm had gone red as blood and now it read “-2”.

  I stood up from my chair, went towards the counter where the barista had fainted, grabbed a napkin, a pen, and a straw and sat back down, because I don’t get to drink a Spanish latte often and these waiters just ruined it, begs the question though, where are they?