#writing #fiction
Gloomy Afternoon
Note 02/26/2026: While editing this I went to add the ‘unfinished’ tag, but after reading it I couldn’t decide if I actually finished this story or not. The ending is succinct, but it definitely could’ve continued on and I wouldn’t’ve questioned it. I can’t comment much on the story’s content, but the names are very heavily inspired by the band I had been listening to at the time (Still one of my favourites). Put the names together and look them up and you might find out which one.
It was a gloomy fall evening. The air was moist and seemed to stick to the faces of passersby as easily as it did the street below them. The water sunk into the asphalt and reflected the world onto the floor like a mosaic; A stark contrast against the evening sky. The air was nice and cool in the bar though, Nico was happy about that.
“You’re bullshittin’ me.”
“I swear I’m not”. A regular chuckled. Enjoying his drink while staring at a tiny television in the corner playing a football game. Nico didn’t care much for sports, but he appreciated the noise and the energy of which it filled the room. He thought it must be nice to have something to really hold dear, something to get excited over and likewise cry over. It had been a long time since he’d had excitement like that.
The crowd cheered to a good play and the barkeep approached Nico. “Hey Nico, can I get you anything?” He stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass that squealed as he rubbed it with a towel. His eyes juggled between customers and the TV. Nico was a long-time customer though, and he gave him precedence. When it came to Nico he was a friend first, a customer second.
“No, I’m fine. I’m just here for the peanuts anyways”
“Alright, let me know if I can get you anything.”
Some time passed, the barkeep refilled his peanut bowl and handed Nico a towel, for which he wiped the salt from his face and fingers. The game had ended which led to the regular crowd departing, leaving room for the night to wind down. The barkeep listened to a french radio station from a portable radio he had on the counter, quietly humming to himself and matching the wipes on the counter with the melody of the song.
Two men played pool, smoking cigars and laughing. Their cigars produced whips of smoke that danced in the light and dissipated into nothing. Nico could sense a bond between the two, the kind two childhood friends might have. One of them told a joke and the other laughed. Nico smiled.
The weather worsened outside, the afternoon gloom brought a light sprinkling. Passerby scurried off the sidewalks to some other shelter. Nico sat staring, listening to the rain patter against the roof and sprinkle the windows. The rain dripped into a gutter and splashed down into a puddle. There was most likely a broken gutter above him. The puddle ran off the curb into the drain below, forming a miniscule rapid of epic proportion.
A man and a woman walked in. They were soaking wet and the man held his jacket over her, a feeble protection against the weather outside which was quickly becoming a torrential downpour.
The bartender would’ve closed by now, eager to get home to his warm bed, but he couldn’t bring it upon himself to kick out this couple. He smiled and offered them some tea.
“Some tea would be swell, thank you for your hospitality.” The man looked at his wife. “Doesn’t that sound great darling?”
“Oh it sounds simply wonderful. And this Tavern is so cozy, oh we simply must come back when the weather allows!”
“Yes of course dear” The husband responded. He looked at the bartender. They were still standing in the second doorway, their clothes dripping on the hardwood floors. “We aren’t disturbing you are we? We can make it to our car if need be, it’s only down the road.”
“Nonsense.” Responded the barkeep. “Please, sit, eat. I couldn’t in good conscience send you into the rain like dogs.”
The Barkeep lit a fire and then went into the back to prepare the tea and some food, taking the radio with him. The woman walked over to a jukebox in the back of the room by the billiards table. She flipped through the different songs. Nico could see the light moving over her face, her reflection in the glass looked like a wide eyed kid who was just told they could have any candy they wanted from the vast array of a drug store counter. Possibilities seemed bast, incomprehensible to the feeble, yet happy minded. What more could one ask for?
The music box clicked and a tune began playing, softly filling the room and blocking out the music from the radio in an inoffensive manner. The song expressed itself through her motions. She was turned away from Nico, her arms on the music box like that of a lover. She felt the vibrations of the song and swayed to the music. Nico couldn’t see her face, but he could tell she was smiling. Her eyes were closed, and the song transported her to a world beyond her corporeal self, far beyond the tavern in the rain. She turned around and opened her eyes, calling for her husband. He joined her in the center of the room and embraced her. They smiled into each other, their noses rubbed against one another. Nico sat for a while and watched them mold into one form, dancing to the melody of the music. For a moment they were more than people in a bar. They became an idea. An idea of belonging, love, and expression.
The gloom outside seemed to fade away, closing the tavern off from the world as a single moment in time. The sound of the music box played off into the evening, they laughed and danced into the night, the shadows outside reached slowly across the surface like clawed fingers, chasing away the light as it retreated over the horizon. It took hold completely, clasping over the tavern and enclosing it in darkness, save the light of a dim streetlight fighting valiantly in the rain.
The couple, drunk in body and heart, took their leave eventually. Wishing goodbyes as they left, their laughter trailing off into the night. Nico reminisced, their presence had not quite left and remained long after them. He intended to savor this feeling, oh how he fondly remembered his youth.
A straggler came in from the rain soon after. They were quiet, their presence only announced by the jingle of the welcome bell hitting the front door. Nico didn’t even turn around, hearing only the slumps of wet clothing and heavy breathing. The kind of wet clothing of someone who accepted defeat and allowed the rain to soak them to their core.
“We’re closed!” Shouted the barkeep from within the kitchen. The man ignored the call and took a seat several stools down from Nico. Nico looked up at the man, now intrigued at his ignorance of not only the command, but the feeling of the night. His entrance had opened the atmosphere of the bar, released the air from the room as if cut with a dull blade. He stuck out like a sore thumb and itched like a day old scar. The man stared at the wood paneling below his seat. His clothes dripped, forming small puddles at his feet.
“We’re closed! Did you not hear me?”
The barkeep’s voice loudened as he entered behind the bar from the kitchen. He spoke with an authoritarian, foreboding voice as a dad, showing disappointment as one might to a child who broke a vase. It was a necessity to use this voice in his line of work. Plenty of customers who couldn’t handle their alcohol were escorted out by that voice alone. Quite simply, it was a gift. A gift that seemed infallible to all but the motionless man before him.
The man was no drunkard nor vagrant. He was a drifter, and both the barkeep and Nico could see it. Someone down on their luck, uprooted from all commonality and sentiment. Carrying unknown burdens to all but himself and god.
“Wait, let him stay.” Nico said, waving his hand with worthy decree.
Nico turned to the man. “Lemme get you something. How about a drink, what do you like, whiskey? That ought to warm you up.”
The man didn’t look up from the floor. “He had to be freezing. Nico thought. “What’s your name?” He asked.
No response. Nico looked over at the barkeep, who stared back hesitantly. Nico could tell he was ready to call the police at any moment, or worse: Nico knew he kept a gun under the counter. He’d never needed to use it before, and the glance in his eyes showed hope in Nico’s arbitration to ensure he wouldn’t.
Nico made a more definite look towards the barkeep. Nico could tell he was anxious and gave him a reason to bugger off. “Get him a blanket would you? And how about something warm, tea perhaps? I’ll pay for it.”
The barkeep looked from Nico to the man slowly, as an animal would to a hunter in a trap, waiting to be released or slit at the throat. Regardless he was hesitant to remove himself from the room, never taking his eyes off the man as he retreated into the kitchen. His hand on the gun under the counter being the last appendage to leave the room.
Nico used his moment of isolation with the man to try and establish a semblance of communication. Even the man’s breathing had slowed and the silence was deafening. The barkeep returned and handed the man a blanket. He took it with a meek hand and covered his body.
“Thanks,” He muttered.
“Progress” thought Nico. The bartender quickly went back to the kitchen and returned with the tea. He figured alcohol wasn’t the best to give this interloper. Who knows how he might react! He took the cup with his left hand and cupped it around his lips, taking slow and methodical sips. The bartender leaned over him, feeling a confrontational approach and tone was necessary for those who ignored commands of an indiscriminate nature.
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Don’t have one?”
“Yep.”
“Everyone’s got a name.”
“Not me.”
The bartender felt anger looming over his horizon. He removed himself from the scene, taking his anger out on some dirty dishes. Nico heard the music from the radio raise in volume.
“Where are you from? You got a family we could call? Get you out of the rain.”
The man took another sip. He looked unresponsive, but Nico took the silence as an answer itself. He could see the conflict within his eyes as he let the question ruminate in his mind.
“I used to have a family. A dad, n’ a sister. Plus a brother, but I never met him.” “What happened to them?”
“Dad’s dead. Dunno where my sister is.”
“What about your mom? And your brother?”
Nico saw anger in his eyes. The man swallowed it. It seemed like a habit.
“Never met her. She left me when I was young. Took my brother too. Left me and Pops with nothing.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t care. She can rot in hell for all I care.”
“That seems harsh.”
“Bullshit. Life is harsh. Some people just can’t accept that n’ people like me gotta deal with the excess.”
Nico felt the anger in him. It seeped from his body, out through his sweat into the air. Nico breathed it in and it stung his nose. This man’s world was harsh and cold and It cut him like a dagger. Yet unlike so many others he didn’t demand anything back from the world. Nico could tell he was different.
“Where’d you get that from?” Nico inquired.
“My dad used to say shit like that. When he’d use the broom on me.” The man stood up and imitated someone bigger than him. “You gotta learn Lou! This is how the real world works!”
“So it’s Lou then?”
“You weren’t supposed to know that. It just slipped out.”
“The mind speaks what it wants. What, I can’t know your name?”
“I don’t like to get too close to people.” Lou sipped his tea.
“Where you from?”
Lou spit and looked over, sneering. “You sure talk a lot doncha?”
“Sometimes.” Nico chuckled.
The man started up again. Feeling much more familiar. “My dad used to take me to bars like this.” He smiled. “Me and my sister would come to a bar just like this with my dad on weekends. The barman would always sneak us chips and other snacks when my dad went to the bathroom.” He got up and looked around the room/ Nico saw on his face the same look he saw on the Girl from earlier. Pure captivation strewn him into another world, perhaps a momentary lapse from his regularly scheduled toil. He walked over to the Billiards table and rubbed his hand along the inner border, feeling the felt rub against his fingers. “We’d play pool on a table just like this. My sister always beat me. She was good at games like this.”
Nico stood up from his seat and grabbed a cue from the wall. “Let’s play.” The two men played pool in silence, only broken by the occasional tap of the porcelain balls and the thwump they made as they collided with the walls. The barkeep returned, surprised to find them moved on from the bar counter and playing games.
Lou noticed the barkeep and turned around. “Say, this bar feels awfully familiar, did you ever have a dad come in with his kids fairly regularly? Few Years ago?”
“Can’t say I remember anyone like that.” The bartender replied. “I’ve gotten a lot of customers throughout the years, so it’s hard to remember.” The bartender returned to the kitchen.
“Damn. Could’ve sworn this was the bar.” Lou argued. “Isn’t it funny how you can feel so attached to a place that you’ve never even visited? Funny thing that is.” He muttered to himself. “Funny thing, that is.”
“All these pubs feel the same.” Nico replied. “They have a certain, homey feel.”
“For me it felt like the bar was more of a home than my own. People actually cared for you here.”
“Your dad didn’t care? What about your sister?”
“My dad cared, but not like that. He knew how the world worked. He loved me in a different way. My sister cared, but could barely look out for herself, I didn’t expect much from her.”
“Sounds like your dad was abusive.” Nico said. “That’s nothing a parent should be like.”
“It wasn’t his fault, I made him that way. I was a bad kid, always getting into trouble, stealing and the like.”
“Maybe, but that’s no excuse for a parent’s actions.”
Lou went silent. Staring at the 8 all scattered among the others on the table. He saw Nico’s face in the reflection.
“My sister remained pure, untainted even throughout. My dad never laid a hand on her and she knew it was because I took her blows. I protected her. She didn’t see the bad side of our dad often, except through the cuts on my face and bruises on my back.”
“Sounds like you were a good brother.”
“I wasn’t good, still amn’t. I’d fight and cuss. Don’t think I ever held a job fer more than a month.”
“A product of your environment. A perfect tree can’t be expected to grow in sand.” Lou retorted, “Neither can a tree grow in perfect soil if unhealthy at its core.”
“What happened to your dad?”
“He died, lung cancer.” Lou sat for a moment. He seemed to be on the verge of tears, but he swallowed his sorrow. “I was 17. I’d Just come home from school for fighting again. I knew it was the last time they’d let it slide. I was expelled. I knew my dad wouldn’t care. School was a waste in his mind anyways. No, it was my sister I was worried to see. Despite everything she had hope for me, especially when I had none for myself. For her, this would be another disappointment. She’d sit with me in the bathroom fixing my cuts from when I’d fight. “Why Lou, why… She’d say”, bandaging my broken face.”
“When my dad came home later that night I could tell he’d been drinking. You could smell the death emanating from his very soul. My sister had already gone to sleep and it was just me and him in the living room. He was in a bad mood that night, more than usual. He started swearing. When I tried to talk back he punched me. Told me I should shut up, wouldn’t want to wake my sister, have her see me or him like this. I obliged. To this day I regret staying quiet to protect her. She would see the bruises on my face anyways and our dad’s split knuckles.”
“He started hitting me, pushed me to the floor and started kicking me. He beat me because I was a failure.
“You weren’t a failure, he failed you.”
“I sure felt like one. I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t bring myself to fight back, could barely raise my arms to shield the blows. I know it was my fault. He didn’t want to hit me, he had to. Because I couldn’t control myself”
Nico blurted out “That’s nonsense!”. The absurdity of his thought appalled him.
“You can’t truly believe you were at fault do you?”
Lou looked up at him and back at the table. “Doesn’t matter now. He left me on the floor that night. When I woke up, he was dead. Propped up in his chair, beer still in hand. Ya know it’s funny, I always thought I’d know a dead body when I saw it. You always see them in funerals on tv, they’re all angelic looking. But when I looked at my dad, he looked bloated and gross. Thing is he always looked like that. Hell, I didn’t even notice he was dead until he didn’t get up past noon. I don’t know, I just assumed he might’ve gained some grace in his passing.” Lou stared out the window for a second, then looked back at Nico. “Let’s go back to the table, I feel sick.”
Nico stared at his drink for a decent while. Staring at the bubbles rise to the surface and gather into a froth. The little bubbles in the foam looked like heads in a crowd, all staring at him.
Lou looked over at Nico. “Rum and Coke.”
Nico looked back “What?”
“You offered me a drink when I first came in, a whiskey. I always liked rum and coke, though.”
They sipped their drinks, the rain pitter pattering on the roof in the background. Nico filtered it from his mind like background noise. He found it odd to contemplate this, how his mind had rendered the rain as nothing, even though it was so overwhelmingly apparent to his senses. He found it interesting how the brain blocked out what it grew used to.
“What happened after your dad died?”
Not much. I didn’t go to the funeral, and couldn’t bring myself to see his face again. My sister set up the funeral with the help of a neighbor. Throughout the whole process though I never saw her cry. When she came home that day her eyes were dead. More dead than the body of which it bore witness. She did cry though. That night she came into my room when she thought I was asleep. She wrapped her arms around me tight, crying into my chest. “Why Lou, why…” She whispered. Her tears soaking through the bedsheet onto my cheek. By morning she was gone. She didn’t want me to see her like that I suppose.”
Lou sniffled. “Things were ok for a while. Luckily I turned 18 soon after pops died. I was able to have my sister live with me. She was only 15 so it was either she stayed with me or went to a foster home. I would make sure she had everything she needed to be comfortable, food and the like. Truth be told though, she did all the work. She’d clean the house after school. Granted she cleaned the house when Dad was alive but before it was because she was told to. Now, she wanted to. It was as if the house changed, became something she was enthusiastic to clean, as if she was prideful in its presentation. She bought new decorations with the money I’d given her, and she slowly removed all the things that reminded us of him.”
“One weekend we repainted the walls white. Before that they were a thick yellow. Years of tobacco use had caked them thick. She kept me straight too. She’d make me lunches before she went to school and she made sure I had a job-and went to them. She didn’t want me reverting to my old self. She saw the anger in me, she didn’t want me heading back to some dark place where she couldn’t reach me.
A tear fell from his eye, like how a dune drop on a leaf early in the morning might roll down the stem of a plant. He wiped it from his face with his sleeve, which had dried nicely.
“I couldn’t do it though. I was angry. I told her I was going to work every morning but I wasn’t. I’d get into fights and rob houses for petty cash. I was careful, and for a while she didn’t know. But the truth always comes out, no matter what. This one night I decided to rob a woman on the street. I was desperate and it was risky. The lady called the police, must’ve had a cellular phone. Police sirens wailed in the distance and I ran with the hounds on my heels.”
“I ran all the way home, hiding in bushes and ducking behind trees. I made it home alright, but somehow they figured out where I lived. They arrested me right on my doorstep. Right in front of her.”
Lou put his hands in the air, as if aiding a description of some object in front of him. “I brought that world back to her, when she thought her world was over. I gave her a home and a place to feel safe; I gave her the chance to rebuild. At that moment, when my face was against the concrete, my hands in cuffs, she knelt beside me. I could see tears in her eyes, in their glaze I saw my reflection. I looked just like my dad. “Why Lou, Why…” I heard her say as they took me to the squad car. After that I got sent to jail for a bit. BY the time I got out she’d been sent to a family somewhere. That night was the last time I ever saw her.”
“Did you ever try to find her?”
“No point. She wouldn’t want to see me again. I disappointed her for the last time. I gave her the world and crushed it before her eyes, gave her hopes and reduced them to dust. All because she trusted me. I wouldn’t bring myself into her life now just so I can disappoint her again.”
Nico cracked a peanut between his teeth. The men sat in silence for a while, ruminating on their own thoughts. Nico could tell he was taking glances when he could though.
“I don’t know how people can do that.”
“Do what?”
“Eat peanuts like that” He laughed “I had a friend from school who would eat peanuts like that, shell and all” Lou laughed quietly to himself.
“Did you like your dad?” Nico asked. Lou adjusted his blanket, pulling up his sleeve for a second. Nico spotted burn marks, faded but definite, all along his arms. The sure signs of a tortured soul.
“He was hard.” Lou looked at Nico and realized he was still looking at his forearms. He pulled up his sleeve. “Ah I see.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “One time I was playing ball outside. I didn’t get much, but I had a baseball and a catcher’s mitt. I loved baseball. I’d sneak out and play with the neighbor kids when my dad was too drunk to stop me. That was most nights. One day though I threw a bad pass, a bit harder than usual. I broke a window.” Lou looked down for a second, as if every word seemed to take a bit of his life. “The neighbor was pissed. Rightly so mind you. They brought me home, had my dad pay for the window. I remember standing below my dad, watching my dad converse with the neighbor, apologizing on my behalf and handing over some money from his wallet. He was calm and collected, but the second the door closed the outside world closed off with it. In that moment he changed, and thus became his true self. The kind of person he hid from the rest of the world.”
Nico asked no questions. He felt powerless. All he could do was watch and listen.
“He- He’d hold me down, grab my arms with his fists. “Gotta learn” he’d grumble. And burn his damn cigarettes on my bare arms. “Don’t fight it” he’d say. If I cried or called out he’d just do it longer.”
“You know, I think he saw himself in me. He felt guilty for how he had acted, how much of a failure he was as a father, and how it reflected on me. When he saw me fail and follow him down his road he just wanted me to change, but the only way he could show it was through anger, and violence.”
Nico was speechless. All at once, this man had opened up, chosen another to bear his burdens. Nico hadn’t felt himself worthy to see this broken soul open himself up, guts and all, for him to see. His pain went deeper than the burns on his wrists. The burns were like snake bites, dripping venom into his bloodstream, seeping into his brain and poisoning his heart, prolonging the pain. It was painful and irreversible. His skin had been punctured and the venom wouldn’t leave any time soon except through a long, painful process. Nico felt connected through his burdens. For a moment, he felt the burns along his arms, and the broken soles of a man walking without meaning. He felt the longing for what was, for connections that are forever severed and could never heal. He felt the cold, nights spent on benches exposed to the elements, an inescapable and lonely cold that cuts to the bone.
Nico thought about his night with Lou a lot in the coming days. Over time days became weeks and weeks became months, and life returned back to normal. Lou faded from Nico’s mind except on the darkest and stormiest nights, yet his burdens still remained for Nico to share.
One day a new customer entered the tavern. He took a seat next to Nico and looked around hesitantly. The man turned towards Nico and tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me sir, but can I ask you a question?”
The inquiry was directed at Nico and he looked up at the inquirer. “Sure, bud.”
“Forgive me but I’ve never been to a bar before. Not to drink anyways. But today I wanted to change that. Could you help me pick a good drink to start with?”
Nico blinked. He was sure he’d seen this man once before. The man looked like Lou. They had the same oval head and thick black hair. They had the same olive green eyes. Where Lou wore rags this man had clean casual clothes. Where Lou’s hair was ragged and messy, this man’s was uniform and cut, slick back like a businessman. And unlike Lou’s eyes which, like a window to the soul, showed only loss, longing, and guilt, this man’s showed purpose and contentment.
“What do you think you’d like?” Nico asked. “Whiskey?”
The man rubbed his chin. “I always thought I’d like rum and coke. It sounds good.”
Nico ordered him a rum and coke. The man received the drink and sipped it pleasantly. “This is good! I could sit here and drink this all day.” The man chuckled.
“I’m Reed by the way.”
“Nico.”
The men sat in silence sipping their drinks. Eventually Reed stood up. He placed £10 on the counter. “That should cover the drink. It’s been great meeting you Nico, but I have a wife and kids to return to.” Nico could see the smile on his face. This was someone with something to live for, a reason to smile so genuinely. Reed took to the door but Nico stopped him in the doorway.
“Wait, before you leave, I have to ask. Did you have any siblings?”
The man looked back. “I had a brother I think, but I never met him. I think I had a sister, too.”