Richard's Arc

Chapter 6 of 7

Richard's latest batch tasted wrong. He poured a sample from the new barrel and swallowed. The sour notes hit too sharp, almost vinegar. He'd rushed the fermentation, pushed it two weeks early to meet demand. Now he had forty bottles of undrinkable beer and three wholesale orders due tomorrow. He dumped the batch down the drain and watched months of work spiral away. Outside, the morning air bit cold. Richard walked past the inn where he'd poured samples just weeks ago. Dead grass patches spread across the ground near the entrance, brown and brittle. Even the planters looked tired, stems bent and leaves pale. The sight matched how Richard felt—worn down, struggling through a hard season. He kept walking, needing distance from the brewery and the mistake he'd made. The old stone fountain stood in the square, water trickling from a crack in the basin. Someone had tried to fix the plumbing years ago and failed. Now the water leaked sideways, staining the rock dark. Richard stopped and stared at the damaged fountain. His rushed batch felt like the same kind of mistake—trying to force something before it was ready. The fountain still worked, but it showed its scars. A dove landed near his feet, pecking at something on the ground. Richard looked closer and saw bottle caps scattered across the cobblestones. He must have dropped them earlier when hauling supplies. The bird picked through them, searching for anything useful. Richard knelt and gathered the caps into his pocket. He stood slowly, watching the dove flutter away. The orders were still due tomorrow. He had no product to deliver. But he could start over tonight, do it right this time, even if it meant losing the contracts. Better to fail honestly than sell something broken.