Here is the first Chapter of my book! I hope you enjoy :)
Genre - Fantasy, Dystopian, Sci-Fi
Chapter 1 - A Drunken State
The doors of the pub were old, the type of old that contained extreme character that was only gathered from the erosion of time. If they could speak, they would spin tales of new beginnings, adventure, and tragedy. I had just left the ship, and I knew there were a few inns and pubs around the port, but this one spoke to me tonight. A couple of torches burned slowly outside of the building. The cobblestones on the side of the building were damp from a fine layer of fog that coated the streets and night sky. The skittering of rats could faintly be heard with an accompanying yowl of a cat in pursuit. My muscles were sore from the long and strenuous journey, and this particular building contained an inviting warmth that contrasted with the cool, mysterious fog. I took a deep breath in and pushed the creaky doors forward.
I really was looking for trouble. It could have been in the form of a brawl, seducing an attractive human, or gambling all of my money away. I walked into the pub with the expectation that I was going to get inebriated and have some type of excitement for the night.
I went over to the bar and sat down. The bartender was busy awaiting a group of men. I had precious and glorious free time to fill my night. I had so many options compared to the monotonous actions I had from work. I thought about the job I previously had. It was a breeze and I had made a bit of cash from it. I needed another gig. Yet, I never worried too much. Something always came up. Worrying was for the weary. Why concern myself with future problems? My father figure, Jon, would have been proud of this fluid attitude I developed. He never worried about shit. He always used to say: ‘Worry is interest on tomorrow’s problems.’
No truer words have been spoken since.
From the very short time I have been on this planet, I have figured out one thing: the universe works in strange and mysterious ways. Why would a minuscule, emotionally damaged person like me try to get in the way of the almighty, powerful ways of fate? Why worry against such a massive force?
Allowing myself to shake off that responsibility was the best thing that ever happened to me. Thanks Jon. I thought reverently. May your soul rest in peace.
“Wake up,” I pressed my face into my palms at the bar, trying desperately to redirect my thoughts. “It’s time to focus.”
“Focus at the bar?” The tall, busy bartender gestured toward a gruff, weathered man that looked like he was about to fall off his stool.
The bartender put his elbows on the counter of the bar with a rag in one hand and asked, “What can I get for ye’r?”
I smiled, “I’ll take an ale. The cheapest one you have.”
He nodded, “Lucky for you. That’s the only kind we got.” He chuckled and threw the rag over his shoulder, and started pouring ale into a large cup, the froth was the perfect amount. Then moved on to his next set of customers.
It was a busy night apparently. A couple of ships had sailed in around the same time as us. Scanning my environment, I didn’t notice anything unusual for a bar along the port. The small, old building did not offer a lot of space. Near the bar and at a small table, there were a couple of regulars sitting around some sort of card game.
It was so easy to spot a regular at a bar. It was etched in their attitude: so laid back, confident, and way too excited when new blood walked in. Regulars loved to gossip. It was definitely an option for me to assert myself into. However, dealing with the regulars was always tough to break the ice because they always have a chip on their shoulder.
I did have other options. There were a couple of men that were chatting quietly in the back; some serious trading business from the looks of it. A large bottle of whiskey sat in the middle of them. I placed my finger against my lip in contemplation and then took a sip. This was also an option to get entangled with. The rest of the room contained a couple of friendly sailors that were guffawing; creating an atmosphere that could turn into a dangerously fun night.
I chugged the rest of my ale, slammed it roughly down on the bar and demanded for more. I knew exactly what I was up for tonight. My pockets were full and I was feeling lucky.
I was up a couple of rounds with the gambling crew when they walked in. There were four extremely attractive and strong women that burst through the door. It was quite dramatic, because I definitely was not the only one who was looking their way. They looked way too clean to be in this type of pub. Something looked different about them too… I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Maybe the alcohol was messing with the clarity of my thoughts. What a concept.
I rolled again, this time, my luck did not fare as well as it was before. “Distractions,” I muttered.
“Looks like y’er streak is up!” One of the men yelled.
I scowled. No shit. I gestured at the bartender for another ale. However, he was distracted by these fine specimens at the bar.
I got up, a little sloppily, from the table. It was time to get a refill before I lost all of my coin. Maybe that brawl would end up happening…
To my surprise, the way-too-clean-women didn’t walk out of the pub when they realized it was that kind of bar. They stayed, and two of them were chugging their pints. Normally, the more refined folk would order something a little more expensive. They would have walked right out at the mention of cheap ale.
I slammed the cup on the bar, waiting for another ale to replace the empty cup. I looked over at them and scanned them. It was their hair that was off. Too clean. Something about it was so wild, kind of like mine after I got off a boat, except mine would have many layers of salt in it. One of the reasons why I kept it short. The less hair, the better.
The one woman, whose face was turned toward me across the bar, briefly scanned her surroundings, but before continuing with conversation, she stared deep into my soul.
I felt violated. Naked. As if she could see fragments of my thoughts.
It wasn’t uncommon for a group of women to come into a bar. I think I had been out on the sea with such a mixed, gritty group that the refinery of these attractive female demeanours made me think they were better than me, or better than what I had been around. That always pissed me off. The finer soldiers or crews from fancy ships thinking they were better than everyone else because they had more money. It was complete bullshit. Their privilege always made them weak, in my eyes. The rougher on the outside, the truer on the inside. Diamonds in the rough was what I sought. I had learned that beauty could be toxic and misleading.
Their stares made me feel uncomfortable, and made another gesture for my cup to be refilled. Alcohol always soothed my nerves. I took a healthy swig, and brusquely made my way back to the rowdy men and continued to try and win my money back.
By the time the regulars had finally gotten comfortable, I had won quite a sum of money from the little gambling circle. Even my poor judgment was telling me to stop, but the ale kept telling me to continue. It was a fine balance. I liked to show them I was assertive and competent, but you never wanted to win too much. It would always hurt their egos.
However, the other crew of women had severely impacted my sense of judgement, and they had altered my plans for how my night originally was supposed to play out. I was originally going to get gossip about the port, figure out what crews were leaving in the next week, and potentially join the most exciting voyage at the moment.
But these women had peaked my interest. I wanted to know more. Something about them was agitating me. Whenever I felt this way, I started drinking more. And when I started drinking too much, my senses became more blurry, and I always lost my focus when I got tipsy. And when I got tipsy… I became way too cocky.
I laid my hand of cards down. A flush. I grabbed the coin on the table before me and smirked.
“Y’er too good for this girl, take your winnings and get out of here.” The man growled in warning. The regulars didn’t like losing, but they always underestimated me, and it was so fun to use this to my advantage.
I was normally friendly. I was good at fitting in anywhere - I believe some people would call this trait charismatic. It was easy for me to break the ice with groups of people. Thus the reason why I normally chose to interact with the regulars. I would:
1. Gain valuable information
2. Develop solid networks
3. Potentially win a little bit of money.
However, I had some flaws that I needed to work on.
One of those flaws was being overconfident… especially if I was on a winning streak.
“What, are you scared that I’m gunna empty y’er pockets?” I laughed, while mimicking their accent in the process.
The men didn't find it as amusing as I did.
One of them had gotten up and picked up the back of my chair to escort me out. This wasn’t a part of my plan.
“Ahhh, I see. You are scared. Let me just gather the rest of my things…”
I bent over the table and started to put the money in the pockets of my jacket. I started to hiccup. Shit. I was drunk.
“Thank you very much gentleman, for being a bunch of sorry-ass, pathetic cu–”
That was when I felt my body fall to the floor and dragged out the door.
Out in the alley, the world started to spin. The cobblestone was cold, but my body was already at a point of feeling numb. I felt my pockets jingle. I could always make it to another pub… I heard some voices coming from the door.
“Are you sure this is the one? She’s drunk. Your highness.”
“She’s the one I saw in the…”
The door creaked open, drowning out the women’s words. Her eyes glinted toward me. A heap of drunken flesh in the alleyway.
I hiccupped and splashed ale over my boots. Amazing. I still had a cup of ale in my hands. I noticed she had a frown on her face. I raised my glass in cheers and took a bottomless gulp. Why was she so unhappy? Clearly she needed a couple of more drinks in her. I was thankful that I still had a bit left in my cup, despite the fall.
The woman kneeled down to my level.
“How do you feel about a job?” The woman asked.
Like I said before, the universe works in weird, mysterious ways. It kicks you on your ass, but then a moment later you might find yourself with an amazing opportunity.
“When do I start?”
“How does… now sound?” She asked.
I looked at my cup. There was a little left at the bottom. They were pretty large cups, I had to admit. I slurped the last bit into my mouth. The end always tasted too warm and bitter. My face contorted from the taste.
“Sign me up.” and then I belched.
Let me know what you think! Do you want the next chapter? Let me know! I can post it next Wednesday :)
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Thank you sharing! Excited to read more!
https://open.substack.com/pub/alkatp/p/the-hanged-man-poetry?r=5jq1a3&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web