Avery Forest

It was numbingly, bone chilling, cold outside in this desecrated dwelling that traveling people once called the promise lands. The frigid weather seemed to hold below two rounded numbers. The only thing that lit up the people's way was the small desolate stone tavern that was just ten miles from the nearest habitable town. It had just turned from a muted amber glow to a fiery scarlet dusk outside that most likely matched the inside of the bleak tavern for the only kind of folks in here were on the diabolical level. It had been the exclusive place for any misadventure seeker, swindler or thief to quench their insatiable thirst and fill their empty gullet. It was not very spacious for its maximum capacity was around twenty people. Lucky for me, tonight I began to mentally compile a list for each conspicuous, infectious and vile person that sat scheming in this hall.

    I sat in the small corner neatly tucked to the left of the enormous great oak bar. It looked as if it had seen better days from all the scratches of names that seemed to be carved into its bare back. The once luscious brown had now turned a sinister dark burnt sienna with putrid stains from its blatant over use of liquid being spilled on it. My first thought was the owner should consider installing a new bar top but behind the counter the uncaring man grudgingly played barkeeper as he clumsily spilled more than one drink on the dilapidated bar. My guess was that the egotistical proprietor had sneaked in one too many whiskey shots on the side while no one was looking.

    I had long since finished my savory drink of an old fashion hard cider, but that did not stop the overpompous bar wench from handing me another. Her meager dress was too short in more ways than one. Her flared peasant skirt was high above her knees and her ivory ruffled top showed not only her bare shoulders but her bodacious bosom. It was obvious that the crafty woman was looking for an extra coin for her breast pocket. I could hear them jingle when she giddily skipped away. Every perverted man gave a cheer or a whistle whenever the coy barmaid passed them by. A smile adorned her face, like a cat that ate the canary, whenever the attention was pointed her way. Her calculating persona just meant another silver piece to her purse and another impressing mark to her name, for what dark cunning maiden wouldn't want to take advantage of money thrown at her from an unwittingly drunken person.

       I rubbed my head in annoyance for having to sit here and nurse another unwanted drink. I gave it a light sip and tasted a bitter but sweet taste that had once been from an innocent apple. It reminded me of my grandmother's homemade apple cider from back on the farm. If the juice she had made had more of a kick to it, the drink would have been perfect for my alcoholic Great-Uncle Steve. I instinctively decided not to order any food for what they were serving looked to be left over slop. I guess an earlier group of travelers must have cleaned the kitchen out of any worthwhile delicacies. My deduction was supported when suddenly a ratty furred, old grey hunting dog rushed past one of the square wooden tables with a large turkey bone in its mouth. The malnourished hound must have been starving from the look of its brittle bones sticking out of its emaciated chest. I could only guess that its owner wasn't too wise as to how an animal has so eat to live.

     So instead I decided to watch the high rolling sots with curious eyes for these diverse people were amusing with their drunken fevers and gambling ways. Not too far from my table sat five men in a circle. Each player occupied a spindly wooden chair with their own distinct air, projecting ugliness, derangement and all out crookedness. From my perch, I could see that there was a call girl hanging all over a western cowboy, dressed in a silver striped gingham shirt, blue denim jeans and a white Stetson hat. I could not justify why a pretty lady would come all this way to a transient establishment for a profitable score. The young mistress must have been hired by the gunslinger for the escort was required to put on a performance and act all piney and in love with him. She looked like a harlot, secretly plotting her moves, her top revealing her cleavage every time she bent forward while fawning at her man. She must have over imbibed from all the drinks the cowboy pumped into her. Her high pitch shrill of voice could make a dog howl in madness for her to shut up. The cowboy did not take heed and was unaware of her mindless babbling. Unfortunately for the ten gallon hat man, the prostitute was secretly aiding the other man in a red fox fur coat just across from them.