By Lauren Bowers
I saw her every night at the bar. When I arrived for my shift, she’d always have been there a good couple of hours. Every day was the same: we’d start off with the pleasantries and she’d order another rum and coke. By her fourth or fifth, her dark eyes would turn glassy. “I used to have a little brother, you know,” she’d say quietly, as if to herself, tugging on her sleeves as she spoke. But on none of those nights did I ever have the courage to tell her that I did know. And I was standing right here.
I love this. You built up the tension of this angst ridden character and ended leaving the reader wondering what were the circumstances of the brothers death. was he there to comfort or blame?
I like a story that tugs at the heartstrings. Well done!
I liked the story, it took an unexpected turn. I was expecting bar room romance but got tragedy. One criticism I found the phrase “but on none of those nights” a bit awkward but that may just be me. Thanks