Seamus

Seamus’ lips closed around the flesh, lips smacking as his teeth crunched down, severing fat from meat, his tongue probing and rolling, savouring the salty oil coating it.

The blunt metal knife screeched and scraped on the pristine white plate, drawing looks from around the café. Seamus ignored them, sawing away at the remainder of the bacon. Hey, when you only get one day out, you stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. The last of the bacon disappeared into Seamus’ mouth, leaking juice that trickled down his lips and dripped from his chin. He ignored it, instead drawing his forefinger to his mouth and slurping off some grease that had escaped.

“Stop it.” Will hissed. “People are staring.”

“This is my day out.” Seamus paused. “You gonna take my one chance to enjoy a little food away from me?”

“Just do it quietly. People are judging us.” Will whispered.

Seamus looked around, meeting each of the pairs of eyes in turn, then pulled a pack from his pocket and fished out a cigarette. His lighter scratched and clicked a few times before igniting, the flame weak and sputtering. He brought it to the end of the cigarette and then took a drag, pulling the smoke deep down into himself. He waited for a second. Two. Three. The he leant back, blowing a grey plume toward the fan above him. Disappointingly, it was not turned on.

“Where did you get that?” Will hissed.

Seamus held up a hand to silence him They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and while he may not have a whole lot of relationship experience, this was his first cig in a year and god damn did it feel good.

“Grabbed it while you were at the store yesterday.”

“You weren’t out then!” Will whispered through clenched teeth. “You have to obey the rules!”

“The rules that we ‘agreed’ on? Look, mate, I’m not hurting anyone. You were distracted, I nabbed myself a pack. No harm done, right?”

Will’s nostrils flared for a few seconds before he gave up. “Fine. Keep your voice down. People are staring.”

“Takes two to tango.” Seamus retorted, though quieter.

The café sat on the corner of two streets--lanes, really. There was a checkerboard strip of red and white tiles along the top of the walls, and each table had a red tablecloth. Simple colour scheme. It looked nice. One of the other patrons, a woman with a brown handbag, coughed pointedly. The old bag was leathery and wrinkled, matching her purse well. Seamus ignored her, and eventually she stopped, huffing to herself and waddling out of the café. Seamus smiled through the haze of smoke that was beginning to settle around him. It was astounding how many problems can be solved by simply ignoring them.

Seamus enjoyed a few more minutes of post-English Breakfast bliss before a pale congregation of acne in a red uniform shirt and black pants stuttered its way to the table. Seamus sighed, pulled hard on the smoke and looked up. The acne parted, revealing too-white teeth.

"Excuse me s-sir, I'm afraid you can't s-smoke inside."

The voice was as oily as its hair. Seamus glared at the acne for a few seconds before realising his hand had unconsciously clenched around the knife.

Will placed his hand gently over Seamus' and the fingers around the knife gently uncurled.

"So sorry." Seamus smiled. "I must've missed the signs."

He took the cigarette from his lips and pressed the end into the remains of his bacon, smearing ashes along the plate. He pushed the plate forward, slowly, the china screeching across the pristine tabletop until it sat in the centre.

"Give my compliments to the chef." He said, standing and turning to leave the café.

"Uh, s-sir, you haven't paid yet."

Seamus stopped, a stinging pain in his palms letting him know that his hands had clenched again, hard enough for his fingernails to break the skin. He studied the red and white tiles near the ceiling. He breathed deeply.

"Sir?" The acne breathed pubescent oil across Seamus' back.

Will felt him tense up, worriedly whispering, "Seamus..."

"P-pardon, sir?" Seamus could feel the acne gripping its finely-ironed uniform shift.

"I said," Seamus turned, "shame on us."

The acne had the briefest moment to look perplexed before its expression was covered by a fist. Seamus punched it as hard as he could--which, thanks to Will, was still nearly as hard as in his prime. The acne staggered backwards, holding its nose in disbelief as blood began to drench its already red shirt.

"Seamus! We had an agreement!" Will shouted, struggling desperately to restrain Seamus. But Seamus had one day, one day, and he was going to make it count.

He scanned the room, taking in the other patrons. No one under sixty. Easy.

"I don't recall ever actually agreeing." He said, picking the grease coated knife up from the plate. Two brown gaps in the acne that Seamus presumed were eyes widened, realising what was about to happen. Distantly, he heard screams, presumably from some of the other patrons, but his attention was elsewhere. He brought the knife up, easily brushing aside resistance from both the acne and Will, and stabbed at the acne's neck, spurting hot red blood all over his hand. The congregation of acne fell, clutching at the wound, and Seamus fell with him. He brought the knife down again and again, stabbing into the crisp red uniform shirt. Will kept on distracting him, trying to speak, trying to use Seamus' mouth to cry out, to stop him, but this was Seamus' day. He was in control.

He continued to puncture the uniform shirt until his arm tired, then sat back on his heels. Everyone else had fled the café. He was fairly sure the police had been called. Will had given up trying to control their limbs and had receded to some corner of their mind that Seamus usually occupied. He breathed deeply.

"What have you done?" Will murmured.

Seamus stood up, stretching out his back and arms. "Nabbed myself a free meal, for starters." He looked around the café and spotted a plate of uneaten sausages and eggs. "Two free meals, even."

"You've killed us."

Seamus smiled, sitting down and beginning to cut the sausages. "Probably. But you were torturing me anyway. Better to live out my short days in the sun than long days in the shade, eh?"

Will tried, weakly, to make Seamus move, then went quiet.

Seamus ate loudly, enjoying his last free meal; one man alone in a corner café, waiting for the police.

Got a friend to give me a couple of prompts: "Holiday" and "Prison". Thought this would make a neat little twist. Oh, and for anyone who's made the same mistake that I did as a child, 'Seamus' is pronounced "Shame us".