Dugo poured a little more sugar syrup in the barrel and grabbed the tall handle of the paddle and gave the brew a good stir. After several churns, he hopped down off his stepladder, grabbed a stone goblet and opened the tap on the barrel. The pale amber liquid flowed into his cup, a tall foamy head forming.
He drew in a breath. He raised it to his lips.
The smell stopped him. Just for a second.
He took in a mouthful, swallowed a bit, then gagged as he tried to spew out the rest.
“Swill!” Dugo shouted, and threw the goblet across the room. It cracked into three pieces when it hit the floor.
He wiped the concoction off his long brown beard with both hands, then grimaced when he could smell the stuff on his fingers.
“I’ll never open this pub if I can’t—”
That’s when the burning started. First the lips, then the mouth. His insides started to burn too. He felt his face get hot and he tried to breathe but found he couldn’t. He reached up to unbutton his collar, but stopped when he saw the flesh of his hands sliding from his bones.
Dugo was dead before he hit the floor.
(The word prompt today was “Brew.”)