January 8, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Georgia

My submission to the 18th Annual Short Prose Competition for Developing Writers. Less than 2500 words.

The room was filled with thick, grey smoke. I hated smoke – it irritated my throat and burned my eyes. I struggled to find the source. Through the clouds I found a man sitting at the back table smoking a cigarette. He was expecting me. I made my way through the bar towards him. He was wearing a bright red, silk shirt. Hung tightly around his neck was a thin, black tie. He motioned for me to sit.

I slid into the empty chair across from him and glanced at the two glasses on the table. One was filled with untouched, clean, scotch. The other was filled halfway with only ice. The waitress asked me what I wanted. She had no idea how much of a loaded gun that question was.

“Just water”, I stared at the man sitting across from me. He wore dark sunglasses to hide his eyes. In the opposite corner, a small three man band played jazz in cheap, wrinkled suits.  I swallowed my nervousness and forced myself to speak. I put out my hand and tried to introduce myself but he immediately raised a finger to his lips to silence me.