JOINT 1st, 2025 SIDERIUS MEMORIAL LONGER FLASH CONTEST
TEMPTATION
“A large malt whisky, please. On the rocks.”
The barman poured the drink and set the glass on the bar.
Brian sat down. His drink looked warm and inviting. He stared at his glass, letting his mind wonder.
It had been a particularly difficult week, he told himself. No-one likes a divorce and his was turning into a particularly messy one. His mouth felt dry and parched.
“Are you going to drink that?” A familiar voice jolted Brian out of his reverie.
An attractive, curvaceous woman sat on a barstool next to him. His soon-to-be-ex-wife. Brian wondered why he hadn’t seen her earlier but there she was. All glammed up as usual and, to-his eternal annoyance, still attractive. She asked again. “Are you just going to stare at your glass?”
“I’m, uh, deciding.” Brian’s alcohol consumption was a subject he was not happy discussing - particularly with his wife. The fact he had just come from an AA meeting was no-one’s business but his. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Come to gloat?”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” said his wife, clearly avoiding the questions. She had turned now and was facing Brian directly. She was dressed immaculately in a modern, orthodox style with a twist – conventional yet still managing to suggest playful. Her hair, auburn and tied up, shone brightly in the bar lights. Her face slim, her skin glowing and, to Brian’s chagrin, still had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. She looked just the way when he had first met her. She smiled. “Is that a malt whisky? That’s your favourite, isn’t it?”
“It’s not that simple”, explained Brian.
His wife smiled. “I know about the AA meetings.” She reached across and pushed Brian’s drink closer to him. “But you’ve had a terrible week. I’ve been a real bitch and my lawyers want locking up. You need this.”
Brian nodded slowly. For once, he didn’t argue with her.
His wife was talking earnestly now. She had moved her stool closer and had leaned in towards Brian. Her mouth was inches from his ear. She whispered, “What’s one small drink? No-one will know. And you’ll feel better a whole lot better.”
Brian’s hand reached out. His fingers slowly encircled the glass and he brought it up to his dry lips. He could smell the wonderful aroma of the malted barley, the smokiness of the peat.
One. Small. Drink.
“Don’t do it, son.” A strong yet calm voice broke through the spell. Brian turned his head away from the glass. Away from his wife.
An old man sat on a barstool next to him with a look of sad disappointment on his face. Brian sighed. “Yes. I know, Dad” He put the glass back on the bar. Untouched.
The barman approached Brian, drying a tumbler with a towel. “I hope you are enjoying your drink, sir. Not sure why it’s a such a quiet night. I hope you don’t mind being my only customer.”
The barman poured the drink and set the glass on the bar.
Brian sat down. His drink looked warm and inviting. He stared at his glass, letting his mind wonder.
It had been a particularly difficult week, he told himself. No-one likes a divorce and his was turning into a particularly messy one. His mouth felt dry and parched.
“Are you going to drink that?” A familiar voice jolted Brian out of his reverie.
An attractive, curvaceous woman sat on a barstool next to him. His soon-to-be-ex-wife. Brian wondered why he hadn’t seen her earlier but there she was. All glammed up as usual and, to-his eternal annoyance, still attractive. She asked again. “Are you just going to stare at your glass?”
“I’m, uh, deciding.” Brian’s alcohol consumption was a subject he was not happy discussing - particularly with his wife. The fact he had just come from an AA meeting was no-one’s business but his. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Come to gloat?”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” said his wife, clearly avoiding the questions. She had turned now and was facing Brian directly. She was dressed immaculately in a modern, orthodox style with a twist – conventional yet still managing to suggest playful. Her hair, auburn and tied up, shone brightly in the bar lights. Her face slim, her skin glowing and, to Brian’s chagrin, still had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. She looked just the way when he had first met her. She smiled. “Is that a malt whisky? That’s your favourite, isn’t it?”
“It’s not that simple”, explained Brian.
His wife smiled. “I know about the AA meetings.” She reached across and pushed Brian’s drink closer to him. “But you’ve had a terrible week. I’ve been a real bitch and my lawyers want locking up. You need this.”
Brian nodded slowly. For once, he didn’t argue with her.
His wife was talking earnestly now. She had moved her stool closer and had leaned in towards Brian. Her mouth was inches from his ear. She whispered, “What’s one small drink? No-one will know. And you’ll feel better a whole lot better.”
Brian’s hand reached out. His fingers slowly encircled the glass and he brought it up to his dry lips. He could smell the wonderful aroma of the malted barley, the smokiness of the peat.
One. Small. Drink.
“Don’t do it, son.” A strong yet calm voice broke through the spell. Brian turned his head away from the glass. Away from his wife.
An old man sat on a barstool next to him with a look of sad disappointment on his face. Brian sighed. “Yes. I know, Dad” He put the glass back on the bar. Untouched.
The barman approached Brian, drying a tumbler with a towel. “I hope you are enjoying your drink, sir. Not sure why it’s a such a quiet night. I hope you don’t mind being my only customer.”
