Uncle Jack sat by the fireside, the glow of the flames reflecting off the bottle of whisky, that he always drank the subtle but intoxicating contents inside seemed to sparkle with the mysteries of Adult life I was 14 on that fateful day when he told me about Sarah...... The chair strained under the weight of his beer belly like the horse struggled against a whip,as he sat down a lifetime of alcohol clung around him it was his own little atmosphere. It was etched on every pore of his skin on his clothes the fumes that hung off him like a second skin as a matter of fact he often needed a second skin when he was younger getting into trouble when drunk. Once he even got shot in the foot by an angry farmer who mistook him for a fox in the woods he still walked with a slight limp his past still firmly gripping now at 50 years of age like an angry dog from what I had heard he had a very wild existence when he was younger which was hard to believe even with the alcohol his pretty cottage seemed unsuited to him with his harsh lined weather-beaten face his greying hair once long but cut back by time but it was his eyes that always got me their blue pools of mystery seemed to twinkle with a gentle ferocity which always seemed to say well why not, in other words he lived for the thrill. I always enjoyed the visits to uncle Jacks house the low beams wrought from ancient oak and the general chaos of the place was so him! He was very entertaining and give him any measure of drink and he would transform into a storyteller his side of my family came from derbyshire where the hills are carpeted with stories and legends some true some not.....
And with the whisky flowing it unraveled uncle jacks tounge like a flowing stream it all came gushing out with the slightest provocation!
(Thanks for reading can you if you have the time leave some constructive criticism? I'd appreciate it thanks!)
