Encounters with the Writing Process
| That evening, McCluskey's Bar was more boisterous than I liked. Soon, I hoped, the crowd would thin and the noise would drop.
Across from me, my brother Jerry picked up his drink, Stolichnaya on the rocks, still holding his other arm around the girl, one with a Kardashian butt and Elizabeth Taylor eyes. I wondered where he'd picked her up.
"My next invention's a doozy. We're going to be rich, Phil," he told me. "And...before you finish film school."
"Yeah, sure!" I said, only peripherally aware of his words. My failure to finish film school was the butt of his jokes.
I'd just downed my Tequila when sudden gun sounds exploded by the entrance. I set the glass on the table, and positioned my cellphone against it, turning on its video.
Four masked men with guns burst into the room while the fifth one holding a semi-automatic stayed by the door.
"All hands up in the air!" The snub-nosed one barked, lowering his half-mask. "We want nothin' from the customers. Don't push your luck!"
They got in and out in a hurry. One went for the register and made Don open it; the other emptied the jar with the green four-leaf clover logo that held the donations.
The guy with the cap and paisley-design handkerchief around the lower part of his face winked at me while they retreated. I forced a weak smile, worrying someone might report on it.
"Gentlemen and ladies, please calm down. Nothing's happened. No need to call the police. Next round's on the house!" Don announced as soon as those guys left.
Later, in gratitude, I reimbursed Don for lost money and then some. After all, he was elemental in allowing me stage that great footage, so I could graduate from the film school.
Prompt: Write a story (in 300 words) that includes the line: "We're going to be rich"
For: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"