Short Stories

A Saturday Pint

1 minute read
Exercise piece of flash fiction "True as God. True as this pint before me." as a starting line.

“True as God. True as this pint before me.”
He reached for glass, hand trembling, took a gulp and huddled nearer the open fire.
He grinned up at us, rosy cheeked and soaked through, having run all the way from the bookies in the Saturday downpour.
I hunkered down beside him and he held the cheque right up to my nose.
“Alright old man” I beamed back at him.
“Two thousand and ten pounds. Two hundred to one. Told you it would win”.
He gave me a solid wet hug.
“Mary, A pint for everyone and a packet of nuts for my monkey” He shouted over my shoulder.
“Now don’t mention this to your granny” He whispered in my ear.

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My name is Liam Robertson. I live with my four children in the village of Rostrevor. I had a wife, Niamh, but she died not that long ago. Most days you will find me writing code to feed my family. Most nights I write prose and poetry to prick and prod that ragged tear loss leaves behind.
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