This week's Three Word Wednesday calls for Beacon, Grieve and Kindred. Enjoy.
Tom shot the flare at the rainbow. He thought if the rocket's trajectory arced along the bow, he could find the infamous pot o' gold. The smoke trail obscured the orange band, right on target. The explosion was awesome! Tom ran towards the glowing white beacon.
White hot flames leapt at the colored bars. Eight colors, each a separate beam, twisted into angry, smoking curls. A smoking lump of indigo broke off and crushed a chattering squirrel. Death by blue, Tom thought and giggled. His giggles turned into howls when he noticed the bawling leprechauns. Green and white striped leggings, leafy hemmed tunics, the tiny green men wailed and flipped and rushed forward and back from the glowing pot. Violet ash rained on their buckled hats.
Tom elbowed his way into the grieving green men, tried to approach the pot o' gold. Heat singed his eyebrows. The gold burned! His rocket melted the treasure.
Tom shouted at the leprechauns. "Come on guys! Use your magic! Shoot water out of your fingers or something, save our gold!"
As if one being, the green creatures turned to face Tom. Furrowed eyebrows contradicted exaggerated smiling faces—those smiles were not friendly.
Tom backed out of the circle, turned and dashed for yellow, its jagged end the closest to the ground. He jumped, pulled himself up and ran along the bright track.
Tom dared a peek behind him. The leprechauns swarmed, smudging every color into Kelly Green. The gap closed. Grit pelted his back, the back of his head, fell before him. The leprechauns threw tiny shapes, minute crystals refracting light in the brilliant sunshine. Tom ignored the pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars and green clovers and focused forward, at the azure blue skies—
—the rainbow disintegrated before him. A small city appeared below the fading red. Tom dove forward, slid off the rainbow…
…into Killarney's. Green-clad creatures spilled onto him, knocking him off the bar stool, crushing him into the plank floor. Tiny hands pulled and pummeled, yanked and sparked.
"Guinness! Barkeep, for God's love, pour mugs for me mates!"
The green men chuckled, climbed off Tom, pulled him upright, clapped his lower back. One told a limerick, beer foam shot out Tom's nose. The leprechauns clanked glasses with Tom, kindred spirits, at least until the keg ran dry.