The Bar - A Short Story

I almost forgot, I actually finished a Short Story today! Here it is, in full..

The pub was dark and warm; a fire crackled in the corner of the room as the clock above ticked on. It showed that we were a minute from 9pm. Apart from the barman and I, there was a random assortment of other individuals – five including me and the bar fellow - all men, sat at their own tables, drinking their own drinks, pondering their own lives. I was sat at the bar, staring down into my glass attempting to think about my life when a peculiar looking man, wearing glasses and a suit, entered the bar and sat two stools away from me.

The cold he brought in followed him to his stool and started to crawl its way towards my feet.
I glanced up and investigated his face, he seemed confused and lost.
“What’s your name, fella?” the barman asked, as he continued to clean a wine glass.
The suited man didn’t remove his gaze from the wooden bar, but he had clearly heard the barman.
“Erm..” The suited man scrambled around in his pockets for something, finally he looked up at the barman, having found nothing. “I.. Can’t remember.”
I removed my gaze from the suited man, now uninterested, and continued to drain my drink. I was not surprised.
Nor was the barman, who nodded in an understanding way. “I see.”
The barman put the wine glass down on a mat and began pouring some red wine, and continued. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. Have a drink and you’ll be OK.”
The suited man took the wine glass and a sip, he seemed to enjoy it.
“Do you remember anything? Anything at all? It’s important that you think real hard about this, friend.” The barman asked, in a seemingly surprised tone.
The suited man placed the wine glass back on the table and seemed to concentrate; I turned back towards him and waited for his response.
He sighed with a groan. “I’m... sorry. I can’t remember anything”
The barman and I both deflated slightly. Those weren’t the words we wanted to hear. However, the barman was less cynical than me, and returned with a smile; a typical barman smile. “OK buddy. Drink up; you’ll be fine in a short while”

The suited man continued to drink. I inspected his clothes and compared them with my own.
I had never seen a suit like that before, it was extremely straight and clean. My own clothing was bordering on ancient. I considered the gap between the suited man and myself and began to worry.

How long had I been in this place?
How many people had I seen enter and leave?

I shook my empty glass at the barman; he smiled and grabbed the nearby scotch bottle, glided over and began to pour me another drink.
“I didn’t realize life was so damn discriminatory, barman.” I watched as the barman poured my drink; it slished and sloshed. He looked at me ironically and smiled.
“It could be worse, old timer, you could be the barman. The barman never leaves!” Was his surprisingly optimistic reply.
With that, he took the bottle back to its place on the shelf and disappeared into the back.
I was still upset, and depressed. I had an urge to get out of this place and go back to my life, but I knew that I did not want to – could not.
Not yet.
I scanned the room and tried to remember coming in, but I could not. I picked up my glass and looked at it with contempt.
How many had I had?
I placed it back on the table and noticed that the suited man was looking at me. Had I said something, or made a noise?
“Does it come back?” He asked with hope.
At least I hadn’t said something, I wasn’t completely incapacitated.
“What?” I asked even though I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“Your memory. Does your memory come back?”
I took a sip of my scotch; it warmed my chest and burned my throat. I turned to the suited man and looked deep into his eyes. For some reason I told myself to act as sober as possible, but in all honesty I did not care.
“No. No it does not, Mr Suited Man.” I let that little revelation wash over the fellow, before I went on. Why did I always have to tell them? I felt like the bad guy.
“Why don’t you try and leave Mr Suited Man? I’ll tell you why. Because you don’t want to. Don’t try and understand that because there isn’t anything to understand.” I took another drink. “You just – plain and simple – don’t want to leave. But don’t worry, eventually you will. But not yet.”
The suited man looked as confused as ever. I tried to remember the person who had had this little talk with me, but the only constant I could remember was the barman. And he never explained anything to anyone; he only ever asked questions.

Before he could formulate a response, a bell chimed – an old bell, previously used to announce the pubs last orders, I guessed – and I could see that the barman had reappeared; he was looking over to a man in the corner of the room.
Everyone else in the room – including the suited man - had stopped what they were doing and looked at the barman, hope shining from their eyes. Everyone except me.
“Time for you to move on!” The barman proclaimed, as he had many times before.

An elderly man sitting in the corner stood up; everyone else looked slightly disappointed. The man, who was wearing raggedy clothes that rivalled my own, had the biggest smile on his face. He walked towards the door – arms stretched out like a child learning to walk – opened the door and left; the cold air rushing in with a woosh, as the warmth attempted to creep out.
I could not help but smile slightly for that man, he had been here a while.
Not as long as myself, but a while nonetheless.

The excitement was over, for now. We’d eagerly wait for the bell to chime again; not that I was expecting my time to come any time soon, but the change was a welcome one.
I eyed the suited man carefully and wondered if he’d be here for the long haul or if he’d be leaving any time soon.
You could never really tell.

I took a drink.

I realized, suddenly, that the suited man had returned his gaze to me.
“Why am I here?” He looked scared.
I had figured it out a long time ago but didn’t like telling anyone; if you were going to be here for a long time you’d want to have something to occupy your mind.
“I don’t know, Mr Suited Man. Have another drink and forget your worries. Believe me; it doesn’t pay to worry about it.” I lied.

We both took another drink.

I looked deep into my glass, hoping to find something at its bottom. But I did not. I tried to remember my name, my family, my past. But I could not remember anything.
The fire continued to crackle, as if it were being fuelled by ever-lasting logs. The clock above it ticked on; it presented the time as eight fifty-nine.
I returned my gaze to the barman, who was cleaning a scotch glass. I was about to say something to him when the door opened and a pretty looking woman – dressed in black - wearing a hat entered.

Her heels clipped and clopped as she walked nonchalant over to the bar and sat in between the suited man and myself. She removed her hat and placed it on the bar, in the space occupied by no one in particular.
The barman poured some scotch into the small glass and slid it into the pretty woman’s left hand. I looked into her eyes – she had pretty blue eyes – but I knew straight away that she was of no interest to me; lost and confused.
She took a drink of the scotch and she made a face like she really needed that drink.
I turned away.
“I can’t remember my name, my life, anything!” She said, the fear covered her eyes with a watery lens.
The barman nodded and began to ask her his questions.
I shook my glass at the barman, and began to formulate my answers.
We all waited for the bell chime.

An Appology

I am a predictable toad, aren't I?

Well, I decided to post on here again. Mostly because I've actually began blogging (why is my spell checker so dated; it's a word, dammit!) in other areas and thought "why bother, when I have a perfectly good one right here?" To which I answered, "Well, 'cos you feel guilty for not posting".

That almost was the end of that, until I realised how much time and effort I'd put into the design of this place. It's all very pretty. And since I've been designing my own site - all I need now is some eSpace, and I'm set - I thought I'd give old trusty (that's this site) another bash.

So what's changed with me?

Not a lot, quantitatively. I'm still working at HMRC and I've yet to flee the country in search of my Holy Grail; an adventure of sorts.
I still live at home with my mum and brother and have yet to develop a Website (in my defense, as I've already said, I am close)

But, qualitatively, there is one thing, actually I'm using it as the reason why all the above hasn't changed..

I'm in love!

Yeah how fantastically-lame to all you people who aren't, and how empathetically cutesy to everyone who is. Perspective is a bitchy mirror.

OK so what's the deal with this blog? Who knows, I may start posting frequently - read: less strictly - or you may not see me for another thousand years........


R.U