sawkid
07-20-2013, 07:57 PM
Initially it was the warmly glowing windows which charmed him at first but the frigidness he felt once inside almost made his reflective nature reconsider. It was only temporary, Hatchk thought that night, going into the pub. After all, he did need some shelter from the spiteful rains outside. As such, he remained committed.
Not noticing the clock’s hands pointing at a quarter past ten, Hatchk took seat on a low stool in front of the cheerful bartender - making an inquisition for regional draft which was decent. In return, he received his tall blond in a spotless glass. Hatchk only kept to himself as he sipped it and thought about what tomorrow had promised.
The minutes turned around slowly as more and more drenched townsfolk leisurely walked in. The locals were mostly burly jolly people who did hard labors in trades associated with the vast forests surrounding the town. It was in their communal disposition to all gather here after work to wash off all their sweat and toil. Despite the developing atmosphere, which was already fairly interactive when compared to most of the other pubs around the country, Hatchk remained busy in his thoughts.
“Only a few more hours,” Hatchk kept reminding himself. He had already delivered the packages he was asked to earlier, it was now only a question of killing off the night and rainstorms in peace before he could begin his journey back home to his pregnant lady.
As the night steadily moved on, the noise levels in the pub started getting louder and louder – parallel to the increasing amount of ale which was being consumed. Conversations were starting to become incomprehensible. Soon enough, there was rowdy laughter, extravagant chatter, thumping footsteps, slamming doors, and tipping glasses. It was all a blur of commotion to the ears, according to Hatchk.
When the clock struck two minutes past eleven, it happened: there was that long, screeching scream – the scream of a girl who could scream no louder, nor no desperately. It was a scream familiar to Hatchk, as it sent shock-waves of horror up his spine and startled thoughts. He was drinking his sixth blond when it happened, and it happened oh too suddenly. The rumpus pub went mute in an instant. Collectively, whoever was frolicking in song and dance was now suddenly silent and still. Only pairs of eyes dared to look around in curiosity before their accompanying souls came out of their self-induced paralysis. They all knew the source of that scream: it came from behind the darkness which prevailed in the hall upstairs.
Hatchk’s spirit took a tour into that darkness as he fainted onto the floor. Moments later, he awakened to his hands being cuffed by the local police. Ashamed at his circumstances, he willingly submitted himself to his new masters. On his way out, Hatchk looked up the staircase and saw nothing. He then noticed how his hands were wet, assuming it to be the spilt blond his hands were wrapped around before fainting. Around him the townsfolk spited him with looks of disgust.
...
Not noticing the clock’s hands pointing at a quarter past ten, Hatchk took seat on a low stool in front of the cheerful bartender - making an inquisition for regional draft which was decent. In return, he received his tall blond in a spotless glass. Hatchk only kept to himself as he sipped it and thought about what tomorrow had promised.
The minutes turned around slowly as more and more drenched townsfolk leisurely walked in. The locals were mostly burly jolly people who did hard labors in trades associated with the vast forests surrounding the town. It was in their communal disposition to all gather here after work to wash off all their sweat and toil. Despite the developing atmosphere, which was already fairly interactive when compared to most of the other pubs around the country, Hatchk remained busy in his thoughts.
“Only a few more hours,” Hatchk kept reminding himself. He had already delivered the packages he was asked to earlier, it was now only a question of killing off the night and rainstorms in peace before he could begin his journey back home to his pregnant lady.
As the night steadily moved on, the noise levels in the pub started getting louder and louder – parallel to the increasing amount of ale which was being consumed. Conversations were starting to become incomprehensible. Soon enough, there was rowdy laughter, extravagant chatter, thumping footsteps, slamming doors, and tipping glasses. It was all a blur of commotion to the ears, according to Hatchk.
When the clock struck two minutes past eleven, it happened: there was that long, screeching scream – the scream of a girl who could scream no louder, nor no desperately. It was a scream familiar to Hatchk, as it sent shock-waves of horror up his spine and startled thoughts. He was drinking his sixth blond when it happened, and it happened oh too suddenly. The rumpus pub went mute in an instant. Collectively, whoever was frolicking in song and dance was now suddenly silent and still. Only pairs of eyes dared to look around in curiosity before their accompanying souls came out of their self-induced paralysis. They all knew the source of that scream: it came from behind the darkness which prevailed in the hall upstairs.
Hatchk’s spirit took a tour into that darkness as he fainted onto the floor. Moments later, he awakened to his hands being cuffed by the local police. Ashamed at his circumstances, he willingly submitted himself to his new masters. On his way out, Hatchk looked up the staircase and saw nothing. He then noticed how his hands were wet, assuming it to be the spilt blond his hands were wrapped around before fainting. Around him the townsfolk spited him with looks of disgust.
...