A Short Story: The Man No One Could See

Author’s Note: The short story below is the twelfth in an ongoing series. If you’ve been following along, you know that I received a treasure trove of writing prompts a few months back and have been using them as a source of creative inspiration. The process is pretty simple: I take two cards, blend them together, and write whatever comes to mind. This week’s topic: “The person nobody will talk to” and “smoke.” Read on and enjoy! And, if the mood strikes, feel free to take a crack at your own story in the comments based on this combo!

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The stench of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. At this late hour, past the point most bars have closed for the night, patrons at O’Shaughnessy’s showed no signs of stirring from their cocktails. Still as stones, aside from the occasional head nod or wave for another whiskey.

Jackson Reddick stepped across the schism from the outside world where the crisp October air cut right to the chest. Entering the bar, he was both comforted and repulsed; the heat from inside warmed his frozen fingertips, while heavy smoke filled his lungs. Not that he had any choice but to pay visit to this forlorn establishment: Jackson had been instructed to be at this putrid hole in the wall at precisely 3 a.m. and he wasn’t about to miss his window.