The sound of a small explosion emanated from the Manager’s office, rattling the door and causing the lettering to peel a tiny bit more from its glazed panel.
The Bartender and the Supplier had been busy arranging the new stock on the mirror-backed shelves behind the bar, while Mimi, and her spatula-wielding assistant, Tom had been in the newly-refurbished kitchen preparing for Saturday night’s crowd.
They arrived at the office door together, Tom entered first, his eyes sweeping the room: the Raconteuse, quietly dripping by the fireplace, and the picture of the galleon hanging on the wall behind her.
Tom stepped forward, searching the red-haired writer’s face for an explanation, but none came; he reached behind her, running his finger around the damp picture frame: ‘I believe we have experienced a Dimensional Disturbance,’ he announced, glancing at the Raconteuse, ‘your escape route, might I surmise?’
The other Proprietors looked at Tom uncomprehendingly; Tom grinned, ‘it’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card for a blocked writer,’ he winked at the Raconteuse, ‘a stroke of luck that you introduced the Portal in here as a precaution before going to write yourself back in time.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ replied the Raconteuse.
This has been my second offering this week for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Challenge where this week’s prompt word was stroke.
*crafted on Canva by the author from an image on Pinterest
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