Good Whiskey

“Son!”

My father used to tell me.

“Whiskey’s like a woman. It’s better to wait until they’re over eighteen before you take a sip. It’s just safer that way.”

If only I’d listened.

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Written for Trifecta Trifextra week sixty-two

 

Down To The Underworld

Demetrius wanted to be a hero. One of the old style heroes he used to hear about around the fire with the old men. He wanted to do battle with the will of the gods and to rescue beautiful princesses. The problem was, there was very little that kind of thing going on around him. As far as he could tell, there were no monsters, no disasters, and no vengeful gods throwing people about the place. Life could be difficult but then you didn’t need divine hands for that. The only way he could see to get some excitement into his life would be to join the army with the other young men. The problem was, he had not yet reached the age of majority when that would be a possibility. So for the time being he was stuck there left to his own devices. Not that he didn’t make the most of it.

In the hills near the village was a wide, deep cave which everyone was told to keep away from. Demetrius was fascinated by it but was always prevented from acting on his desire to enter it. Didn’t stop him trying though.

Now luck would have it that there were a great many sheep and shepherds living in these hills and some sheep would go missing  from time to time. Whenever that happened; the people of the village would be asked help to track down the wayward animal. One time it happened that a sheep went missing near the mouth of the cave and while a search was being organised, Demetrius took it upon himself to search the cave.

No one else paid much attention to him as he left the village with the rest in the direction of the hills. The candles and rope he held with him wear hidden under his cloak so everyone else would be the wiser. The figured if he found nothing no one would be the wiser, and if he did find the sheep then nobody will ask questions. He could hope that anyway.

As soon as he was clear from the others he headed straight for the cave entrance. The ground was soft and well-worn right at its lip and Demetrius had no difficulty entering. Lighting one of his candles he used its flickering light to navigate his way into the darkness.

There was not much there, only rocks and the occasional pile of what might have been bones. Demetrius had heard that some animals live in caves; big, dangerous animals, but there were no signs of them. There were strange noises. Deep movements of air, that Demetrius tried to convince himself were the movements of the wind and not the breath of some monster.

The deeper he went the more unsure of himself Demetrius felt. Still he had gone this far, he couldn’t go back. The rock ceiling came lower and lower, forcing him to first bend and then almost get down on his knees to pass through. It was hard going but the physical exertion made him forget about any mental reservations he might have had about what he was doing.

Holding the candle in front of him as he squeezed himself through the thinnest part of the rock tunnel. He noticed the flame flicker. He held deadly still and watched the burning wick. It wavered again. Something ahead was moving.

Demetrius pulled himself through the tunnel and was relieved when the rock began to recede from his back and head. Finally able to stand again he stretched himself and surveyed where he was. The place was empty save for himself and the wavering light of the candle. The walls were bare without even a misplaced rock on the ground. The tunnel continued before him into the darkness.

Well not quite darkness.  At the farthest reaches of the tunnel he could see a faint blue light in the distance. It was the colour of sky and it intrigued Demetrius. He stepped along the rock floor of the tunnel getting faster as he got closer. He was half way to where the light was strongest when he noticed there was something on the ground. From where he was looking it seemed like the bundles of fleece that the shepherds would bring to market. But then he realised; it was a sheep.

Reaching the animal he found the mark on the coat that confirmed it was the missing animal. It was in a bad way. Its breathing was very shallow as if the life was being taken out of it. It was then that Demetrius noticed that there was something very unusual about the light. If didn’t seem to come from anywhere; it just appeared around the sheep.

As he tried to think through his confusion. The animal’s breathing stopped, dead. The blue light then started to dim. No! Rather gather up into a single place. In front of Demetrius’ own eyes the light formed a blob that grew limbs and a head, far from human but a recognisable approximation.

It had eyes that stared straight at Demetrius and a mouth that grinned and moved with no sound. Instead a voice was heard right in the young boys head. In confusion and terror he listened to the apparition speak.

“Hello young master” It said “I have been waiting a long time for you.”

Demetrius’ terror only increased. He stumbled a question. “What? What do you mean?”

The apparition continued “I was banished here to the underworld by the gods many years ago. Without my powers I was forced to scrabble what energy I could from the life that would fall down here from above. But that is a paltry meal for such as me. What I really need is a being with a soul. One who seeks adventure. With that kind of power. I will be able to break my bonds and once again rule.”

The apparition began to deform and moved inexorably towards Demetrius wrapping around him already starting to suck away his consciousness. He stayed awake just long enough to hear the apparition, it must have been a demon speak again “They were wise to ban going into the caves. But there is always one who will ignore the words of wisdom. It is a great irony that they are the ones who will feed me best. I thank you for your gift young master, even if it is not willing. In return I take your life now so you will not see what I do to the world above. That is all the kindness one such as me can give.”

The final thought in Demetrius’ mind before it was completely consumed was that he had found adventure, found a great monster to defeat. But that he had found that to defeat them was far more dangerous, far more impossible than the elders had ever told him. That they had lied.

Picture it and Write: Freshers

Hi there! Here is my offering for this weeks picture it and write in Ermilia’s Blog Here. Once again the picture is not mine I only use it for inspiration. Anyway enjoy!

Freshers

It is a truism that the longer you stay in certain places the more youthful the inhabitants appears while you yourself grow old. I find this particularly apt in my own job in the university. While I have been getting older the average age for new entrants has stayed stubbornly the same; around 17-18, every year. This has meant that each consecutive generation of students has looked to me younger and younger with each passing year.

At first this wasn’t so bad. Kind of like how first years look to you when you were doing your leaving cert. They looked younger but not necessarily like babies. As I have entered into my seconds decade within these hallowed halls I have to honestly say that I can no longer tell the difference anymore.

These…. fetuses are not adults! No adult would have skin that smooth or faces that youthful. I bet that half of them have never even shaved. I could have sworn one still had his milk-teeth.

It feels wrong somehow; criminal even. Some of these toddlers I know are now living away from home. Cast off from the cradle, they now have to make a life for themselves in the Big Smoke. How can they cope? Will the be able to use the washing machine? Or take a bath unaided? Can they even eat solid food? The amount of pasta dishes that they go through up in the dorms makes me doubt even that.

Of course domesticity is not what goes through the mind of a typical fresher. They are now in their first weeks of freedom and while the proverbial cat is away, they will play. Drinking, smoking, all manner of substances, nicely mixed with an ever-changing but depressingly familiar debauchery in the Romanesque manner.

It gets to the point that leaving the isolation of my research lab becomes a harrowing experience. No sooner do I turn when I come face to face with what seems like a twelve-year-old smoking a rolled up cigarette. Left turn to the arts block shows me the sight of teenagers smoking something that is most definitely not tobacco. And that is just lunch!

Any attempt to go out of an evening during term time is even worse. The bars and clubs where I and my ilk were once kings is now a sea of too-young faces liberally drowning themselves in smuggled beer and Cheteau Liffey-bank. Worse than the delinquent-drinking that I can so easily picture for each and every one of them. They all have shiny new ID’s which enable them to drink in the open; without fear, and apparently, without shame.

I have been told that these are the nights college is built for. Then boys with their gelled hair and shirt one size too big, the girls in primary colours notable for having less material than an economy-sized handkerchief. There are hundreds of them packed into the smallest venue imaginable and at every possible ‘pretext’ liberal alcohol is sprayed down from on high to the revellers. It is abundantly easy to get stonkingly drunk on a night like this and either the stars or the floor can easily be reached; more often the latter.

With the rank fumes of drink in the air comes romance; or groping, which to a Fresher means about the same thing. Like most rites of passage for these little troopers the magic happens in an awkward, embarrassing manner, right in the open for everyone to see. It is a sight I and those my age are sick of. Not to mention the constant risk of being corner by one of those self-styled ‘romantics’ looking for a bit of an ‘older man’. “No thank you” I say; stepping slowly backwards while avoiding eye contact “I might have jumped at the chance at your age but I have gone on in my years and have discovered something called ‘standards’. You should try them yourself.”

These events and many more occur with alarming regularity for the few months of every academic year. Then something remarkable happens. After one too many nights on the sauce and waking up next to a monster. The students realise that they’re actually in a place of learning and they have work to do. Thankfully I don’t frequent the library much anymore because if I did. That would be the time it changes from a ghost-town to more packed than sardines.

This new-found work-ethic may save them from the examiner’s axe, the odds are usually good. But with that final rite of passage they end somehow changed. The year of hard-drinking and hard partying has left their youthful looks tarnished. Moreover; the experience has moulded their minds. They become cynical, unenthusiastic and grumpy. They become; for want of a better word, me.

So every year as I watch each new crop of Freshers enter through the gates to be whittled down into proper students. I sneer and I drone yet I also remember that ten years ago, one of those was me and that ten years from now, when I am just a picture on the wall, one of those self-same children with no facial hair and boyish looks may end up standing where I am now, getting annoyed at how young they look.

Impulse

I have come to the conclusion over the years that if given a choice, young people, teenagers especially, will always do the most monumentally stupid thing they can rather than what is right and proper. I have of course my own history as a young fool, confirmed in numerous police reports and newspaper cuttings at home to back this up. Still, I would like to think that I have mostly put these errant behaviours, mostly, behind me.

In fact I have been so long as a ‘mature responsible citizen’ (pffffftttt!) that I had almost forgotten the wild ride that is young life. That is at least my excuse for what had happened. It was a slow day in the shop, there hadn’t been too many punters in as of late and we had already cleaned the place to within an inch of its life, so we sat around chatting, reading, whatever while we waited for another wind-borne customer to come in.

Dave had been with us for most of the summer. Not even drinking age he had gotten a place in some college in the city to study fancy gardening and was working for a bit of cash and ‘to get some experience at the coal-face of the industry’ whatever that meant. He was reading a magazine on cars or some such, hanging around in case any of us old fogeys needed some heavy lifting. He had the endearing habit of reading off whatever it was he was reading to us if interested him, until we got annoyed and threw stuff at him, oh what fun we had.

“It says here” Dave announced after we had all gotten thoroughly bored “That you can increase the power of a petrol engine at least six fold by adding these new additives to the fuel tank” That generated a mild interest in the rest of us and we responded with a “that’s nice”

Dave thought our mumble meant intense interest so he continued “These nitrogenous additives were shown to increase the rate of combustion giving greater impulse per engine cycle. Hear that, it says that it makes things more fuel-efficient.”

Again we didn’t really care but Bill, the hardware supervisor said “With petrol the price it is we could use something that makes it go further.” Then I just had to get in on the action “Yeah Dave! You could really make some money out of something like that, a lot more than you would ever make in this game.” If only I had known I would have kept my mouth shut.

Dave stayed quiet for a second and announced that he needed to go out for an errand and that he would be back in a minute. When he returned he rushed through the shop carrying something in a bag and muttering that he had to check something out in the yard. We were only glad that he wasn’t talking to us anymore.

About half an hour later Dave ran in again and asked us to come out and see what he had been doing. There had still been no increase in footfall so we were glad to do something. In the yard Dave had a small petrol canister, a number of plastic containers and a funnel. He was holding an old leaf blower that had been left there years ago and never collected. He explained what he had been doing.

“I think I might have found an additive that would work” He announced excitedly, “It says in the article that the additives most important part was nitrogen. Well I’ve found an old bag labelled nitrogen in the shed and I was able to mix it with this petrol.” That gave me a pause for thought, but I couldn’t remember why so I let him continue “I have timed that a full tank will make this leaf blower run for approximately ten minutes. I have now filled the tank with petrol with additive. Could one of you time how long it lasts, if it is more than ten minutes then we would be on to something.”

One of the lads duly got out his watch and started fiddling with it before giving Dave the thumbs up at which time  he started the engine. I only later realised why I had the pause for thought as Dave explained himself. The old bags of ‘nitrogen fertiliser’ that we had stored in the back couldn’t be sold because they contained mostly ammonium nitrate, a chemical that had gotten a bad rap lately due to certain subversive elements using it for illicit ends. Ammonium nitrate added with anything that burns, petrol included, makes an explosive. But I didn’t remember in time and wasn’t able to stop him.

Right after Dave starting the leaf blower the next thing I remember is lying flat on my back in a pile of smoke, with the smell of burning hair in my nostrils. I could barely make out a pillar of smoke going up into the sky. It turned out that that leaf blower was made of stern stuff and when the contents of the tank went, the force went straight through the nozzle, blowing us over and sending the leaf blower and Dave into the air.

The young lad had enough sense to let go and landed roughly in a vegetable patch three gardens over. Pretty fine except for some minor burns and a broken wrist. The leaf blower sailed nearly a quarter-mile into the sky and landed in the canal on the other side of town. The cops were called as well as the bomb squad to dispose of the rest of the ‘additive’. We all got some serious questions and a stern telling off.

Dave himself was staid for the rest of the summer, but I’m told that as soon as the cast was off he was back to his old tricks and whenever I had to work with young people again I made a point to remember the foolhardiness of youth and what ever you do, whenever a young person is involved, to stand way back.