this week’s task for creative writing was character and how to evoke through literature. here is my contribution;
He waves his glass at the barkeep. It’s late, and he has been drinking with thethirst of a sponge for the past three hours. Sitting there reading Hemmingway,and a tabloid paper. Doodling in a sketchbook with a black pen. Such confidencethat what he is writing is right the first time around. Another whiskey is put infront of him.
His voice is addled with whiskey and cigarettes, grating in the back of his throat. It sounds like something died there. Earlier it was just coffees, but whenthe time hit six, he was straight onto the hard stuff. He lights a cigarette.
“Sorry sir, you can’t smoke here, you’ll have to take that outside”
“Ohfuckoff!” Mumbling something under his breath. I’m not sure if he is slurring from the whiskey, or if he meant for me to not hear whatever utterancehe had in mind. He takes a drag and blows it in my face.
“Sir, do that one more time and I’ll throw you out!”
“FINE, iwasplanning on leaving now-anyway” He reaches over, scraping thisnotepad and ephemera into his satchel, and in doing so, knocked. his whiskey into his bag, staining and ruining the scribbles in his notepad. Drowning hisstories and thoughts in alcohol.
People were looking over. Rumour has it he was once a published writer you know.
He stumbled and fell, hand on heart and breathing with considerably more effort than normal. Started crawling towards the door; resilient sonofabitch. And then Death must have clubbed him over the head; tired of waiting and having business to do and places to be.
And to think; the dead man used to be such a nice fellow.