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Diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of eleven T L Spencer turned to writing as a way to cope with her condition. Her vivid imagination and love of all things paranormal influenced her writing. T L Spencer enjoys all forms of literature and is currently studying at university, hoping to become a teacher.

Thursday, 15 December 2011

The Hole in the Wall

The heat of the March Spanish sun couldn’t penetrate the thick oak doors of the Irish Bar. Not that heat is really an issue, Jack thought, since it’s beginning to get dark. He huffed loudly and looked around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkened interior. It was actually quite clean, and surprisingly large, even with the thick oak beams on the ceiling. Large dark wood pillars stood in the centre with pride, adding an aged look to the structure, all of them neatly decorated with Irish heroes. Nice, but not what I’m looking for. What Jack wanted was the bar. He was angry, he was annoyed and he really needed a drink.
There it was. Made of mahogany the bar ran the length of the establishment, gracing the right hand side of the building in a soft glow. Like the rest of it, the bar was spotless. There were no spilled drinks, no broken glass. There wasn’t even that faint smell of musk and alcohol. Jack wanted to feel disappointed but couldn’t work up the energy. He was too mad at the other group.
“I thought a college trip to Spain would actually include what most people would call, ‘work’,” Jack grumbled. His film studies group had worked all day and the rest of them had messed around. Yes, they were all only twenty, but they were here to work, not play.
“Yeah, well, maybe I could teach them a lesson. They wouldn’t mess with me.” A voice from behind him made Jack turn and look on in confusion. It was Carl. “I kick box,” he continued in explanation.
Jack scoffed audibly. This was Carl for goodness sake, he couldn’t hurt a fly. He had glasses. “Prove it.”
“No, it’s dangerous.” That’s just stupid, Jack thought as he ordered a round for him and his friends.
Two hours later, after downing a terrifying cocktail of lager and shots, getting very merry in the process, all ten friends were drunk but happily drowning their annoyance. Jack cut into his friend’s lecture and said, “It’s just not fair!”
There was a shout of immediate agreement from his friends, even though most were too drunk to really understand what he was saying and replied with, “That really is a good picture.” As Jack looked at them, befuddled, they pointed to the pillar nearest the bar. The sketch really was quite good, but nothing special. My friends have acquired their beer goggles, Jack thought, chuckling to himself.
He looked up at Carl who looked oddly intimidating, despite his small size. He had taken off his glasses and ruffled his short black hair, looking a bit like Jackie Chan. “I don’t like it,” he said stiffly, slamming his pint onto the bar.
Everyone went quiet and watched in astonishment as Carl walked up to the pillar and punched a large hole in the structure, splintering the wood, breaking the glass.
Jack took a swig of his pint, “Remind me never to piss you off.”

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