Challenge write a story using the title 'Fire of the Gods' and you have up to 1000 words.
Fire of the Gods
“Uisce beatha” he said raising his glass and saluting her. The glass glinted in the dull lights of the bar. The honey coloured liquid innocent inside the tumbler.
“The water of life” his speech was a little slurred, then he swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one smooth practised move. He tipped his empty towards the bartender who replaced it immediately. His eyes were bloodshot, bleary and unfocused, red tendrils shot through the whites and you just knew he already had too much to drink that year.
Deirdre made circles on the dark wood table with the condensation from her own glass of Ballygowan...Still. Pierce burped, a fog of food and alcohol flavoured air enveloped Deirdre. She must have pulled a face because he suddenly seemed to notice her. “Don’t act so posh now Deirdre. I remember you coming over to our house and you hardly had the clothes on your back” he burped again. “Just cause your old man’s got a few bob. . . don’t think we don’t remember where you came from”. Fat chance of that in a town this size Deirdre thought.
She was seriously regretting promising Fiona to keep an eye on her brother while she mingled with the funeral crowd. Pierce wasn’t that hard on the eyes but he wasn’t much company. To be honest he was a pain but I guess burying your mother effected different people in different ways. “Do you remember when you were thirteen and I let you see me naked” he was smirking knowing at her. Good God he was attempting a wink his whole face crumpled in the effort. He leaned in to her and whispered “you loved it”.
“You are so disgusting. I had to stop calling over to Fiona because of you. And when my Mum tried to talk to your freshly departed old Mam about it she tore her apart. You caused so much trouble for both families.” Deirdre was so angry as she remembered her teenage self being so humiliated by this man. She could feel her face burn in remembered shame. If only she could hit his stupid face off the timber of the table again and again and again. Pity about the law saying you couldn’t do that sort of thing any more.
“But you loved it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here with me all night”
Deirdre looked him up and down then taking in the cheap suit that was at least ten years old. The food stains, the wet patch on his crotch where he’d had a mishap in the toilet and she thought I am so much better than this.
“Fire of the Gods” She said it slow and deliberate. He looked up at her confusion knitting his brow. “It’s what my father always called whiskey”
“Huh” was all he could manage.
“Shall I tell you why?” she asked but she didn’t wait for an answer “because it could burn a hole in your belly but it would definitely sting the hell out of your eyes” and she took his glass and threw it in his face. “Goodbye Asshole” and she disappeared through the heaving crowd of black.