Arthur

Arthur, true king of the Britons, drinks.

Arthur

It happened again. I tried to get a drink at the pub, McRein’s, and got checked. I’m not underage, why can’t they get that. This burly fellow working the bar asks to see my ID, takes one look at it, and gives sharp nod toward the door. In other words, he gave me the shove - a very polite “get the hell out.” 

Why, why, why on earth did my foster parents name me Arthur - of all the stupid ideas. Then again, they did raise me - decently too, if I may say. But honestly, who on earth names their child Arthur Pendragon? It shouts “FAKE NAME! LIAR!” I have to put Arthur P. on my resume and applications for work. Otherwise, people think it’s some kind of joke. I guess it’s more that they think I’m some kind of a joke. It bothers me, loads. One day, I’ll change it. I’m serious. I’m going to do it. I mean really, Arthur? Arthur? I’d rather have a girl’s name. Almost. Maybe.

Anyway, as the night got longer, things started getting weird. Actually, weird is a bit off, to say strange might be more accurate. They would get weird.

It seemed absolutely perfect and innocent and normal and all that. I saw the most beautiful woman…well, I guess she’s sort of a woman. She’s more of a girl really. Don’t get me wrong, I had no idea at the time. When she said, “I’m at university,” I took her to mean - just like anyone would - that she was in, as in studying at, a university, like me. What she meant was “I’m standing within the border of an area of land calling itself a university.” She’s nuts. Then again, so am I. You should have seen her. I’m awful at talking to fairer sex, but I couldn’t help myself. 

Anyway, I found out later that she’s fifteen; I swear though, she has the soul of a woman. I was mislead, d****t. It’s not like we did anything. Her father saw to that, when he used her cell phone to find her. I guess, in her defense, you won’t get many men with the line “I’m fifteen and my dad’s an officer of the law who could turn your head to jelly by flexing his bicep.” Unfortunate really. So’s the black eye he gave me. I ran and tripped on something. It glowed in the luminous emissions of street lamps and had shadows cast all around it. Something in the concrete. I grabbed it, shoved it in my pocket, and kept running. 

That night I drank alone from a bottle of Vodka that one of my friends left the week before. Then I went to bed. 

I don’t know why I picked it up, and as I lay here, on my bed, my flat-mates alarm starts playing “Yellow Submarine,” it’s digging a nasty point into my leg. 

Reviews

[M.E.Lyle]

This is interesting and kept me reading. I'm curious about the glowing object your character shoved into his pocket. Guess I'll just have to read the next chapter.

[Eoin Lemon]

Like the Jeeves picture on your profile. It's what made me look you up. Big PG Wodehouse fan....

[Eoin Lemon]

You have energy in your writing, and the story is a good idea. You do what I constantly struggle with, and I think you have tendency to hurry to the next bit. I do exactly the same thing and try to slow myself down and be more descriptive. A good start tho' and well worth persuing.

[Irfan Bashir Shah]

You have a good hold on language and your story uptill now has been fantastic....
The last two lines however need to be corrected..... You should try to keep a constant tense all along..... That would sure help the cause....

[Coyote Poetry]

I like this chapter. A very entertaining chapter. There are some names that can create reaction. A excellent chapter.
Coyote