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Pull Up a Chair

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Pull Up a Chair

Post by Wraithwriter » Wed Jul 13, 2016 7:35 pm

In honor of Memorial Day this year I offer this tribute to Veterns, Mothers, Fathers, and all others who have lost loved ones. We are the living memories of all they fought for whether on a battle field, in the home, or in countless other places. Today remember those who have passed and hold close those who remain.


Every year he comes in and takes a seat at the largest table of the Seven Notes Tavern. When approached by a waiter he orders the same thing every year; twelve shots of whiskey, twelve pints of mead, six loaves of bread, six twists of salt, and six slices of lemon. Then he sits there staring into nothingness lost in memories of years past.

If asked why he comes the man looks up with eyes filled unshed tears but still manages to give the asker a smile. He would then reach for the shot of whiskey before his seat and throw it back. Seconds would pass as he savored the whiskey burn in his throat, then with a grunt he would tell his tale.

Pointing across from him he began, "There sat Joseph, my friend from childhood. As children we spent our summers swimming in the lakes and creeks that surrounded our homes. It was with him that shared my first skin of wine, fore which we were beat for being so drunk we could no walk straight."

"Joseph died ten years ago when his heart failed while working in the field. I helped his wife bury him in his family plot next his oldest son." Pausing the man picked up his pint of mead to wet his throat then continued.

"To his left sat Joseph's wife Leah. Leah grew up with us but as children we were never very nice to her. In fact it was she who ratted us out during our first drinking incident. Later in life Joseph and I became rivals for her affection and her decision led me to leave home."

"Leah departed this world two winters past. Despite being surrounded by her loving children and grandchildren she never got over Joseph's sudden passing. We laid her next to Joseph on a clear bright winter's day."

The man then raised his mug in a toast toward four other empty seats. "My old mess mates from my soldiering years; Dan, Bill, Victor, and George. Many a tankard of mead did we share in taverns such as this, and many not as respectable." Here the man would would give a wink before going on, " All four of them saved my skin a time or two, and I theirs, but alas the end comes to all when death calls."

"Dan took a spear to the chest when he failed to lock shields during the Battle of Gocer. George fell from a knife in the back during a scuffle over stolen wares in Froghe. Bill, well we never did discover what came of him; he disappeared while in route through Jarvark Forest. Finally there was jovial Victor always joking, a hammer slammed into his lower back and he never smiled again. He passed a month later."

Taking another drink from his mug, he began to cry silently. "Two others are for my parents who attempted to raise me the best they could. Both passed while I was off playing soldier. Then there is my daughter." Here the man took yet another drink as tears mingled with his mead.

"My dear little angle Dianna, whisked away by marauding tribesmen as she and her mother traveled to meet me here. Gail never did get over our daughter's loss, she took her own life four years later. I still visit her grave to place little treasures there even though I know that they are take by the street urchins as soon as my back is turned."

Finished with his litany he tips his pint back draining the last of its contents. Here he waves to the final seat and asks, "Would you care to join me in a pint or two? Drinking in the company of memories it not the best way to drink."


Would you join him? Think about what stories you have to tell, would you share them with a stranger?

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