Chapter 5:

“Sully the Sack”. 


Sully raised his glass towards his thickly bearded lips slowly with his ‘gunslingin’ left hand, casually surveying the quiet and dimly lit bars’ occupants and surrounds. He had one good eye; the result of a particular moment in his life, which begs the age old question of who brings a knife to a gunfight?! His left eye had a large piece missing, and a surrounding of scar tissue that ran from his brow to his jaw, in a jagged and lightning-like appearance of scarred and marred skin tissue from the farther end of his seemingly sculpted eyebrow. But for the scar that ran through it of course. Luck, had apparently saved Sully’s left iris, but he couldn’t see much more than his peripheral and own nose and bearded lips without his trusty right peeper.

Sully continued to survey the room, looking over the same five dishevelled and beat-down mongrels spread across the bar, the thick barmaid and her very round arse. Roserie noticed him staring lustfully and blushed slightly, before shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts and huffing slightly before looking away. It almost looked as if she gave her behind a little jiggle in his direction as she turned and pretended to be busy. 


Rosarie was wearing a short skirt, tight top, and apparently no underwear, Sully noted, as Rosarie bent over slightly with the tiniest glance in his direction. She spread her legs a little, seemingly reaching further into what appeared to be an empty jug of some description, and bent further, giving Sully a very candid view of the arse he had been admiring earlier. 

A weather-beaten, enormous hairy hand inches from his nose broke Sully out of his intrepid trance. The intruding hand went sailing past his face, and slammed onto the counter with a great thud that seemed to rock the very foundations of this dimly lit and smoke-filled tavern. “Rose!” Roared the giant. She ignored him subtly at first, and then after a few moments, more aggressively, looking toward him briefly before twirling around defiantly and beginning to walk towards the farther end of the bar. The monstrous human being spoke again, his rasping voice somehow booming from his throat as he said another word “no”. Rosarie stopped, and turned around pouting slightly, before nodding her head and biting her lip briefly, as if she were fighting back tears. 

Abruptly she straightened, seeming to regain her composure, and went to the vagabond looking bearded man holding his glass above his head, the latter being planted firmly nose- first against the alcohol, spew, and piss stained bar. He appeared to mutter something, and she obligingly refilled his filthy glass til he moaned unintelligibly. Somehow understanding, Rosarie whirled around and rustled around in something underneath the bar, and; it seemed magically, produced ice formed in small cuboid shapes, that were oddly sort of round. The man bought the glass toward his face, and then some of the liquid disappeared, although Sully could’ve sworn the rough and obviously very drunk man’s lips never moved.

Sully went to sip at his own drink, realising too late that he had nothing in his hand, and in moving his hand upon this epiphany, looked down out of instinct. “Thump!” And Sully went flying, his feet lifting from the ground under the weight of his scarred and meaty fist, the force breaking two of his teeth as his jaw slammed shut.

Thinking a fight had broken out, instinct took over the small tavern’s only occupants, and the few people Sully remembered seeing suddenly turned into twenty, fists and legs flying in every direction. “And all of this, in just a few seconds” Sully thought, before he hit the hard ground, a floor made of a solid oak, timber frame and planks carved from it’s many limbs.


“And so was the end, of Sully the Sack.” Sully said, after a few brief moments.

End.