The Bar

Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. The addictive weekly photo prompt to write 100 words of flash to beguile and entertain. I don’t always win my objectiveΒ but the fun is in the taking part. Get yourselves over and join in with Rochelle Wisoff -Fields merry band of fiddlers.

 

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Photo : Bjorn Rudberg

She sat in the corner, part of the crowd but always alone. A heady elixir of age and regret, memories and time, seeped up from the floorboards and a fragrant patina of whisky and rye layered the oak that ran across the bar. She teased her fingers over the grain as the soft lilt of laughter and a long forgotten melody floated in the air.

She turned. It was almost a taste, a scent, a touch to hold onto. Alas, the mist swiftly fell, and she moved back into the shadows. No more than an echo from some other time, some other life.

 

 

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40 thoughts on “The Bar

  1. Oh Helen, I have another favorite this week. The heady elixir seeping through the floor boards, the whiskey patina-incredible imagery. I was lost and then for a moment found inside a past memory long since gone. Lovely.

  2. You know, if I think about it long enough, I’d say you were writing metaphorically about the song itself. It fits the profile. Whatever the reason, though, it is terrific writing, as usual. Great!

  3. Wow Helen, once again, you have written a story so full of the senses that I applaud you! Imagery is so beautiful and mystical! Helen, you are really, really, a good writer! Nan πŸ™‚

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