Frank

Frank walked into the room. His steps were sharp and exact, his look was steel and steady. He moved slowly from the door to the table at the far wall beneath the window. He picked up a glass and a bottle of whisky and he took three slow, thoughtful steps over to where I was standing in the corner. Frank held out the glass. I took it from his hand and he opened the whisky and he poured a large portion of it into the glass. Then he sealed the bottle, turned around and stepped back over to the table beneath the window. He put the bottle down with a clunk, sighed heavily and looked for a long while out of the window, maybe searching for some hint of a trail on the distant hills. I hadn't moved; I just stood there dumbstruck with that glass held out in front of me. Eventually he came back over to me, took the glass from my hand and looked into my eye. He gave a short, disappointed smirk, shaking his head. I said nothing, I moved not a muscle. I did not smile nor blush nor pisss my pants, no I did not. I just looked Frank in the eye and thought about how sorry I was. Then he drank the whisky, let fall the glass and he hit me real hard across the jaw.

I fell. I admit I fell there by Frank's feet and I never got up. He stalked back out the room, shutting the door gently on his way.n I heard his footsteps all the way down the hall, all the way down the stairs and all the way out before I could breath again. Man! That guy scares the shit outta me!