The Characters

Bartender: teastained with a battered cricket bat and a bitter backstory. If he was a tarot card, he would be drawn from the minor arcana. You'd never know him from a bush full of starlings, a tree without leaves, a burnt-off stump. Head bent to the side, eyes sharp, he listens like a stone. In his wallet, folded banknote with a phone number, creased photo of the son he'll never know, recipe for misery stew. Ask him about the tattoo he had removed. Ask him about the scar above his eye. Don't ask him to run a tab unless you want to see the cricket bat. Never ask for advice, or his backstory: distant constellations shed more light.

Patrons: Male. Typecast. Not unfriendly. Hardly welcoming. They don't look up when you come in. Undercurrent of laughter, whirlpool of rage. Vague menace like a shark's fin in a swimming pool, you think it's a joke until you see the blood.

Protaganist: he or she is just like everyone else. But completely different. The only lightbulb on the ornate ceiling fan. What sheds the light. Fades or breaks. Is eventually replaced by another, dimmer or brighter. Or maybe that sad and metallic spike -- sharpened and thrust -- to pinion the story together. One sighs, fits awl.

Antagonist: the opposite of antonym. The moment before the lightning strike or thunderclap. The moment after. The shape of a shadow thrown by a single blade of grass on a moonlit night in a barren field, only magnified significantly and then reduced to half normal size. Whatever you fear most, only moreso but considerably less than anticipated. The lion and the gazelle. You.