Pen name of Ira Robinson
The Stumble Inn is the last stop outside of Center before civilization ends.
Bula, the Half-Orc bartender, brooks no trouble and she has the means to make that happen.
Within the walls of the tavern one can find the Key-Bard, Serene Heart, one-time minstrel who no longer sings. She still has many stories to tell, though, and is glad to share them with anyone who comes along, especially if a coin or two are shared for the favor.
Step inside, take a seat. Avoid the goat... he gets drunk sometimes.
And mind your manners. Bula is always watchful.
As the drink drains into my stomach, burning its way through my throat, all I can think is, “How the hell could this be happening?” I look down and see the glass is empty again, so I fill it with the cheap bourbon sitting on the end table next to…
Though he had been walking along the highway for most of the night, John’s feet were not tired. In fact, he felt very little of anything. He really could not remember when he started to walk, but he thought it must have been quite some time ago, he did not…
The rage built up in Sarah once more, drowning out all but the man before her. The small, darkly lit cafe, the people having their little talks with each other, the baby hollering for more food, all of these things disappeared, vaporized in an instant when she saw him walk…
I buried my wife yesterday. No, no. There is no sympathy required. I don’t need the unfeeling platitudes that always come with news like that. No need to waste your precious energy on such supplications. You see, I hated my wife. Her being gone is a blessing, not a curse,…
“Hello mother.” My stomach dropped as the words flowed out of the phone and I dropped it. The plastic case skidded across the newly-tiled kitchen floor. I stared at it, terror oozing through every vein in my body as the white light of the screen faded away to black, the…
Troy was, without doubt, one bad kid. I don’t mean in the sense of merely disobeying his parents or finding ways to get into trouble. It went beyond that. No, Troy was not your average, run-of-the-mill bad boy with a mean streak. He was evil. Pure, unadulterated, evil. I know…
I do not know how long I have been standing here, or what brought me to this place, but I am grateful for it, nonetheless. I am grateful, because I can see him, as he eats his dinner alone in the small cafe. Even this far across the street, with…
“Melanie, don’t go too far,” I said as I watched my young daughter run down the street. My stomach always dropped a little when I saw her legs moving, in those first few moments of freedom I could allow her to have. She was four years old, and all I…
