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Back to Doran's
In the famous pub Eammon Doran’s holds place to many men, young and old, who stumble in and out of its doors.
Including 67 year old Eddie O’Brien. Consumed by drink and an absence of Love in his life, Eddie wears a long dirty brown jacket with numerous amounts of pockets. He has white hair with a tint of grey underneath. He also has a beer stained beard with some bits of food nestled in his moustache.
Slumped over his pint at the bar table. Eddie sits and gazes around the room. His eyes like two big black glistening balls outlined with red lines widen.
A heavy damp cloud of smoke descends on the bar table and takes over the room. Faces hidden behind a cloud of smoke with the stench of tobacco and beer. A never-ending line of old men slumped over their drinks look as if they’re crying into the glass as if it was a comforting pillow absorbing their fears, thoughts and problems.
Eddie collapses on the bar table, staring into the dark auburn colour filling the glass. Through the glass Eddie stares at the numerous bubbles. His hands begin shaking, his body trembling; all he contemplates in his mind is the fear and misery that pierces through his feeble body everyday. Failed marriage, failed job, failed life, the equation that equalled to his fate in life. All the pity that is thrown to him was overwhelming. Reminiscing about where he sleeps most nights; the back streets of club M on saggy moulded worn out pieces of cardboard. Pondering why he was never disturbed; pity was his conclusion. The rage bubbled within him. His red puffy dilated eyes widened and widened.
To distract himself he collapses his head onto the bar table. He feels the cool wooded table rub against his creased and stubbly skin. Looking up his eyes bestowed onto his foggy auburn coloured glass to within held the poison to his life. As he stares into the glass he is drawn into the bubbles. Each one bursting Eddie wonders how many he can count. This enraged him; with every bubble arbitrarily bursting his rage grew further. His heart started to quicken, his eyes widening even more, Eddie blasted up creating a piercing line into the cloud of smoke. Passing the swaying black figures ahead of him and shooting through the heavy bar doors he stumbles outside.
Before him he glanced at the cobbles, each one with its own story to tell, its own mark to show, all interweaved together.
He wondered what the time was; it was a dark cold night; so dark he saw the shadow of the glistening stars stare back at him from the cobbles. Looking up he felt an overwhelming feeling of belonging; He smiled.
In the corner of his eye was a clock, he turns and began to revise on the logic of reading a clock, following the logic, the time was 1:02. He set eyes on passer byes shivering and grasping their clothes, clutching themselves to keep them warm. Eddie wondered why he didn’t feel anything, he looked up again at the field of stars; and smiled.
Eddie set out to see the pub. The shiny and glimmering sign ‘Eammon Doran’s’ looked down at him. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen the pub. The sign still as shiny and glimmering to this day, but on this day it doesn’t seem as happy and shiny as it was.
Eddie embarked onto the damp tattooed street, swaying and stumbling. Staggering through the famed arch his eyes bestowed onto a young man wearing clean black shoes, grey drainpipes and a leatherjacket. The man was holding a guitar proudly, strumming to the tune of ‘like a rolling stone’ by Bob Dylan, one of Eddies favourite musicians when he was younger during the 1950’s protest movement.
Eddie stopping, looking very unbalanced and confused he listened with his head turned as if to listen more intently to the song.
The man was singing-
‘How does it feel, to be on your own, with no direction home, a complete unknown, like a rolling stone..’
A smile slowly descended on his old, worn out face, leaning back onto the blackened wall he felt invisible, laughing uncontrollably as he faded into the background he was singing the song in fits of laughter.
When the song stopped Eddies laugh faded, his eyes following the cobbles and lay out onto the infamous H’Apenny Bridge. The bridge was dotted on each side with lampposts and cars headlights. To Eddie the bridge almost looked on fire because of his blurred vision, this swayed him into a trance and he felt being taken over; almost called to the bridge. Looking up again at the stars Eddie nodded and smiled almost as if he knew the stars as people, drops of rain hit off Eddie’s face and trickled down through the wrinkles on Eddie’s face.
Still seeing the bridge looking back at him, Eddie stumbled on and made it to the middle with his hands in his beer stained pockets. He faced the Liffey seeing the moon spread all over it like a blanket on a duvet; to him he was feeling a sense of strength, calling, courage. The things he’s never felt before. His eyes began to soften like butter; tears were streaming down his face like a never ending river running through his old saggy skin. Longing to escape he grabbed the bars of the bridge, squeezing tighter than he ever has. He began to tilt over the bridge, feeling the cool, crisp air brushing off his face. Closing his eyes his tears were spilling out of his shut tight eyes, almost like a sandwich squished so tight the butter pours out. Hearing and feeling the water he tilted more and more; beginning to smile.
Breathing in, Eddie felt the breeze getting more powerful against him, the rain getting heavier and himself feeling much lighter. In one thrust of wind Eddie was flung onto the other side of the bridge, his head pounded against the bars of the bridge, he weakened and collapsed; lying against the bridge like a doll collapsed on a wall.
Twisting to his side in an attempt to arise he lay helpless, pondering why everything throws him away.
Looking up to the stars again, his smile faded, reflecting on what just happened he thought that maybe it was a sign, a sign that it wasn’t over for him; that the best was to come. Nodding with a grin and sighing he scratched his head, saturated from head to toe and his face dripping.
Seeing a dark figure approach him he squinted in an attempt to see, never seeing the blurred black and white figure, it grabbed Eddies hand and placed paper into it, it said in an old worn out husky voice-
‘May god be with you, my son’
‘He never was’
Being to late with his reply the figure had already walked away. Eddie grasped the note and raised it up to his eyes, crying and looking again he smirked and yelled with bemusment-
’20 euro? right, back to Doran’s!’
Striding down the bridge in a fast pace he stopped at the arch. Seeing the young man singing again he patted him on the shoulder and said confidently-
‘May god be with you my son!
The young man just kept singing, Eddie was feeling invisible, but all he was contemplating was that his mouth was dry and that he felt this road would be the last road he’d walk down; he now felt a man. His time was coming, he was feeling that it was his last supper with the money he was given; a proper send off he was thinking.
Eddie joined the long line of men bowing to their drink. Eddie ordered his poison and a packet of walkers prawn cocktail crisps. He drew a breath and nodded as his drink was placed in front of him rising and swirling the glass he was gazing at the bubbles; they began to burst in vast emotions, all sliding and turning past eachother.
He began hearing a song playing in the background; it was subtle, soft and peaceful. The singer sung-
‘I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which im dying are the best ive ever had, I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, with people running circles it’s a very, very, Mad World..’
Eddie began shutting his eyes and breathing heavily humming the tune seeing him back on the bridge again, descending into the river slowly hitting off the bed of the river. Smiling again he sighed-