"Destiny's Pub"

Darrin and I are so proud of Carlin, who recently had his short story published in a book published by Young Writers of Canada, called Dreamscapes. Carlin gave me permission to put his story on this blog:

"Did I ever tell you about the time that old Nelson McNealy made his own homemade bio fuel? I finally was right, after years of telling him his truck was full of s---!" The crowd of regulars let out a hearty laugh. Kenneth Wallace leaned back and drained the last dregs of his ale. It was a good day. The sun was in the sky, a gentle breeze glided through the front door, making the air at the Orkney Pub a little less stuffy, and both Ken and the regulars were too drunk to notice that everyone heard the bio fuel joke on a regular basis. Ken always felt at home in this pub, surrounded by a "support group" of middle-aged Scots. They all shared the same mentality that they had fallen into the rat trap of boring, everyday life. Some blamed their wives, some blamed their parents, and some blamed the same alcohol that was knocking down their social inhibitions and freeing them to talk about it. It was in this environment that Ken realized he wasn't alone in his regrets. His father had spent most of his time in this very pub, telling jokes and reminiscing. Ken hadn't seen much of his dad, even in the moments when he had needed a father figure the most.

Ken had vowed that he would be an involved father. He would right his father's wrongs. Yet here he was at thirty-two, with young impressionable children who barely knew him, and an uncanny resemblance to his father. Despite all his fear, he had become his father.

Ken turned to his old friend Duncan. "Have you ever felt like you had no other option than to become what you are? Like it was your destiny?"

Duncan turned. "Well, I don't exactly know, Ken, but Angus over there believes in destiny, and that in itself was a choice."

Ken looked out the window on the quaint little town he called home. He couldn't pinpoint a choice that made him who he was, but he could make a choice now.

That day, he left unfinished ale on the counter.

written by Carlin Parkin at age 17.