empty shots...
The empty cup sat on the counter alone, just like its drinker, empty and alone. John stared at the glass only to see his reflection in the dim light. The reflection was slightly distorted in the curvature of the glass. Not only did it reflect John’s face, it kind of reflected John’s current emotional state: slightly distorted.
It was another night after another day at work. Nothing too interesting happened, but it wasn’t all that monotonous either. John was a policeman. The elastic hours meant that he couldn’t really keep a social life going. Drinking at the bar was as much of a social life as John could hope for. Initially the bar was a place where John could meet new people and relax after a good day’s work. Now the bar was a place where John came to seek solitude. He often wondered why anyone would want to enter such a profession.
John had entertained the thoughts of changing his profession for as long as he could remember, since he started 26 years ago. Recently, the thoughts had intensified. 26 years of service was a long time. There were times when the job gave John fulfillment. However, much more of the time, the job just gave him the greatest headache of his life. He had a feeling that by the end of this night, he was going to get another one of those chronic migraines that his doctors told him so much of.
The bar had pockets of drinkers huddled in different parts of the establishment. Everyone was whispering as if afraid the next person could pick up an unintentional piece of news. John was alone as usual at the, at his usual spot: the third chair from the right, right underneath the ceiling lamp. No one else dared sit at the counter. The counter was John’s. Unless you had business with John, you do not sit at the counter, even when he wasn’t there; you order your drink and leave, that’s the unwritten rule.
The only patrons of the bar on weeknights were regulars. So nobody really stays at the bar for too long, which suits John just fine. John was still staring at the empty glass in front of him, deciding if he needed another one. A sudden cold wind blew from behind him, sending a chill up his spine. John had never felt this before, not after downing as many vodka shots as tonight. Maybe he needed more, or maybe he needed something stronger.
Before John could signal for another glass, the bartender firmly told the newcomer at the door to close the door before the bar froze over. The man stood at the door, letting the warm air sweep over him. The door shut with a jingle as the door swept past the tiny bell hanging over the doorframe. After that, the warmth slowly returned to John, creeping up over him like a blanket being pulled up from his feet. The newcomer sat himself right next to John. The bar watched in a new silence.
John tried to shift slightly to his left, as far as the stool would allow him to. However, the guy just seemed to be inching ever so closer as well. The man placed his left hand onto the counter. He pulled his sleeve back to reveal a stainless steel hook. John’s eyes widen. His stare traveled up the arm to the man’s head. John half expected the man to have a parrot and eye patch. Fortunately, the only fascinating part was the hand. Now, John knew he needed another drink.
It was another night after another day at work. Nothing too interesting happened, but it wasn’t all that monotonous either. John was a policeman. The elastic hours meant that he couldn’t really keep a social life going. Drinking at the bar was as much of a social life as John could hope for. Initially the bar was a place where John could meet new people and relax after a good day’s work. Now the bar was a place where John came to seek solitude. He often wondered why anyone would want to enter such a profession.
John had entertained the thoughts of changing his profession for as long as he could remember, since he started 26 years ago. Recently, the thoughts had intensified. 26 years of service was a long time. There were times when the job gave John fulfillment. However, much more of the time, the job just gave him the greatest headache of his life. He had a feeling that by the end of this night, he was going to get another one of those chronic migraines that his doctors told him so much of.
The bar had pockets of drinkers huddled in different parts of the establishment. Everyone was whispering as if afraid the next person could pick up an unintentional piece of news. John was alone as usual at the, at his usual spot: the third chair from the right, right underneath the ceiling lamp. No one else dared sit at the counter. The counter was John’s. Unless you had business with John, you do not sit at the counter, even when he wasn’t there; you order your drink and leave, that’s the unwritten rule.
The only patrons of the bar on weeknights were regulars. So nobody really stays at the bar for too long, which suits John just fine. John was still staring at the empty glass in front of him, deciding if he needed another one. A sudden cold wind blew from behind him, sending a chill up his spine. John had never felt this before, not after downing as many vodka shots as tonight. Maybe he needed more, or maybe he needed something stronger.
Before John could signal for another glass, the bartender firmly told the newcomer at the door to close the door before the bar froze over. The man stood at the door, letting the warm air sweep over him. The door shut with a jingle as the door swept past the tiny bell hanging over the doorframe. After that, the warmth slowly returned to John, creeping up over him like a blanket being pulled up from his feet. The newcomer sat himself right next to John. The bar watched in a new silence.
John tried to shift slightly to his left, as far as the stool would allow him to. However, the guy just seemed to be inching ever so closer as well. The man placed his left hand onto the counter. He pulled his sleeve back to reveal a stainless steel hook. John’s eyes widen. His stare traveled up the arm to the man’s head. John half expected the man to have a parrot and eye patch. Fortunately, the only fascinating part was the hand. Now, John knew he needed another drink.
-=-
Couldn't finish the story... it has been sitting on the desktop for about 2 months? cannot be too sure... tell me an ending... and i'll add it in later... it has to be good though... maybe a good twist... or 2...
posted by alvin_c at 9:13 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home