“I’ll be having another,” Ladbroc demanded as he slammed his flagon onto the bar, not even making the effort to lift his head from where it rested on his folded arms.
There was no response. After a moment he straightened himself up.
“I said, I’ll be having another ale.”
His blurred eyes scanned up and down the bar, trying to find someone to harass. The landlord was nowhere to be seen; nor were the serving wenches. He span around on his stool to address the room.
“What kind of a place is this when a …” His words trailed off into the silence. Broken chairs, overturned tables and dark lanterns regarded him. His only audience were a pair of chickens scratching for food on the sawdust covered floor. They appeared not to care if he had a drink.
With a heavy sigh Ladbroc got off the stool. He adjusted the sword which hung at his side and slapped the counter top. The pain drove away some of the numbness that had crept in with the drink.
“I s’pose I’ll be getting my own again then, shall I?”
One of the hens stopped pecking the floor and regarded him with its small black eyes. Ladbroc ignored it and staggered around the end of the bar. The first pump he tried spat nothing but air into his tankard. A second and third produced the same effect.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Dry barrels are no good when a man’s in need of refreshment. This place has been scuppered.”
On his way passed the seat he’d occupied he snatched up his hat, dusted it down and placed it on his head. It sat askew, his thin silver hair poking from under it. He lashed out at one of the chickens with a foot. The shot went wide of the mark by a fair way. Neither of the birds paid him any heed.
The daylight made Ladbroc blink. He stood there for a moment, swaying like an old palm tree. There was no more activity in the street than there had been in the bar. A warm breeze rattled shutters that hung on rusted hinges. Eddies of dust chased each other down the street. On a build opposite a monkey sat on the veranda picking at the flaking blue paint. Two of its companions were relaxing on an adjacent roof. They lifted their heads briefly to watch Ladbroc, then went back to picking fleas off each other.
The old pirate turned his wrinkled face towards the sky. The low hanging clouds reflected in his watery eyes.
“I’d say there be a storm coming,” he mumbled to himself. “Monsoon season!” This time shouted to the monkeys. “Best get inside ‘fore the storm hits.”
He lost interest in them when they failed to head for cover.
“Well this town’s about as much fun as a bilge.” He used the rail as support as he stepped down onto the road. “As there’s not a whore to be had round here I’ll take myself to the docks and get a boat aways.”
He staggered down the street between crumbling buildings covered in vines. By the time he reached the docks the clouds had gathered into grey mountains.
Beyond the last buildings lay the open sea. It was flat; a blue green cloth with barely a ripple to break the mirror image of the sky. There were no ships tied to the quayside. Discarded barrels stood in groups waiting to be loaded. The occasional cart littered the dock. No one moved in the taverns and warehouses. A parrot broke from the cover of an abandoned warehouse and headed for the green canopy of the forest that lay outside the town. Its hollow screech only added to the feeling of emptiness.
Ladbroc entered one of the inns and staggered back out taking large swallows from a bottle of whisky. He half climbed, half crawled up a pile of boxes and positioned himself on the highest one. As he sat looking out to sea the parrot returned. It landed next to him and gave a low call.
“Do you think they’ll be coming back?” Ladbroc asked the bird without turning away from the view. Not waiting for a reply he continued, “I miss all the others. You remember when this place bustled with life? When a man could get a woman and an ale at any time. Where’d they all go?”
The parrot hopped from one foot to another.
“Mayhapse I’ll just rest a while and wait for the ships to return.”
He curled his legs up and lay on his side. His companion dodged out the way, coming to land on another pile of boxes off to the right. The whisky bottle rolled around, the contents creating a pale cascade down the crates. Ladbroc closed his eyes. He let out a sigh and then his breathing began to slow.
The parrot watched the text above the pirate’s head. It nodded in time as each second ticked away. Finally, when Ladbroc had faded and the now empty bottle was all that remained, it took flight for the forest once more. It’s sorrowful cry echoing across the empty town.
—————
28 August 2009
The world’s largest fruit bat is almost extinct in its native land of Malaysia. The last one will lead a solitary life until it is caught by hunters. In the digital world massively multiplayer online games come and go. The characters within them disappearing forever in just the same way.
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Welcome to #fridayflash and thanks for posting a story!
Your footnote really sold it for me… Very cool.
Welcome to #FridayFlash – I look forward to reading more!
~2
Nicely written!
I didn’t really understand the last part about the text until I read the footnote. I guess I would have gotten it without the footnote if I played any online player games. Nice twist at the end! Great read!
Thanks for read guys. Very much appreciated. Glad you all enjoyed it.
Welcome to #FridayFlash. This was a cool story indeed.
Good use of dialogue. I was disappointed with the ending until I read the footnote. Nice touch.
I agree. The footnote gave me chills, actually.
I’ve never played video games, online player games, or the like, so for a reader like me, I think the footnote was a clever and necessary touch.
I love the atmosphere you’ve created here. There’s a haunting sadness that is outstanding. Very nicely done, and I look forward to reading more of your work.
I liked that very much, with or without the footnote. (but then I have two teenage WoW addict sons) You paced it beautifully, and I love the parrot.
Thanks. Do have a read of http://leighbarlow.wordpress.com/writing/flash-fiction/taking-a-stand/ which I enjoyed writing just as much.
Welcome to #fridayflash. I went, Huh? at the text above the pirate’s head, then Huh? at the fruit bat, then Ding! it all made perfect sense. Great use of misdirection here. And sad really, for anyone who has seen their online community dry up and blow away. I’ve been in a couple of writer forums like that. Nothing but a few blowing leaves rattling through the empty halls.
You could do a little more proofing (several typos), but a good story, and as I said, masterful misdirection. Great stuff. Hope to see more in the weeks to come.
~jon
Thanks Jon. I’d got a number of idea for how I wanted to tell the story and this one won out in the end. I was concerned it was a bit obscure.
I’m working on the editing, but (not an excuse :) ) the pressure of writing and editing the story in one day make it’s difficult. Still it’s pushing me to write better first time around.
Well, that was nice. Do you know what? This would work for me even better were there no reference to the text reveal at the end – it would have given me a larger dose of poignancy. I think it’s just because I’m more interested in base datum reality transience, although maybe you have been attempting to answer the question of where does a consensus reality go when the establishing collective disbands, or fades away. That’s pretty interesting too, now that I think of it. Now I’m all confused about what I think :o)
:D Thanks.
I did toy with the idea of not putting the explanation in at the end. If you want to read something simillar that makes no effort to explain, try Where Do Alt’s Go.
Great piece. Slow build up and very smart ending. Belated welcome to #fridayflash from me.
Thanks for reading. Oddly I’d been writing flash fiction each Friday for the last five weeks without realising others were doing the same thing as well. Odd how we all think of these things at the same time.
I had a very good friend who firmly believed that good ideas are just sort of floating around out there in the ether, to be snatched up by whomever is attuned to receiving them. Thus creative breakthroughs, be they scientific, artistic, or literary in nature. Perhaps he was right. Seems lots of people were chasing this scent at about the same time. Hopefully we’ll all help each other grow.
~jon