Post by Guy de Mereliot (R) on Apr 5, 2010 17:44:55 GMT -5
It started as a normal day for me: getting changed, getting breakfast. Put a little ointment on my leg from that old injury. It’s funny to call it that ‘old injury’. I’m only 33 after all. I walked downstairs and found my servants had prepared a warm meal consisting of thick slices of bacon, still containing the sizzling grease bubbles, and assorted fruits. I promptly sat down to enjoy myself when I suddenly heard some activity by the front entrance. Slowly and reluctantly I arose and went to see who my manservant was speaking to. It was my sister Helene. She was pale and worried and I knew that something was wrong.
“Sister,” I began, “What brings you here? Is there trouble at the manor?” All I received in reply was a hurried nod. My manservant spoke for her, speaking what he could tell him and not I. “Lucien is on his deathbed, m’lord.”
I stood there in stark silence. The next thing I remembered, for all things happened so fast from that point that it is a blur, were the trees along the roadside and I in my carriage deep in thought. I thought of the good times we had shared together as youngsters, of the petty fights we got in, of how he shed a tear when I went off to join the army, of what we would do now when he is gone. My mind then drifted to the death of my father. Lucien had been there for me and me for him, us for Helene.
As always seems to be the case in such situations, the clouds rolled and collided together, merging into one dark shapeless mass that hung over the sky like a thick ash covered sheet. The earth’s mourning garb. I walked quickly up the halls to his chamber, decked in deep blue and bronze. There he lay with various loved one around him, or sitting just outside the door. This had to be the worst way to die, all those noisy people just waiting, waiting for you to take one last sputtering breath and pass on into eternity. When I die it will be a glorious defeat. They will have to steal life from me by force.
Nevertheless I approached him with a smile. “Brother?” He replied, “Brother.” We each smiled and I took his flushing hand. “Are you sure this sickness is the end?” He nodded. I knew it too. He had been fighting for a long time against it, a good warrior in that respect. He then handed me a note saying, “Read it when I’m gone, Guy. It won’t be too long now.” He chuckled. The chuckling turned into that horrible death murmur. He looked up and said, “The one nice thing about dying this way is you can plan it out. But really I have nothing more to say other than I love you. You are the profound one, Guy. I have confidence in you.” With that he closed his eyes and passed from this world into the next.
By the time I left the clouds had begun to cry, but I could not. I was grateful they could do it for me however. When I got home again, to cold, tacky bacon and brown apples I realized I was now Comte de Avignon.
“Sister,” I began, “What brings you here? Is there trouble at the manor?” All I received in reply was a hurried nod. My manservant spoke for her, speaking what he could tell him and not I. “Lucien is on his deathbed, m’lord.”
I stood there in stark silence. The next thing I remembered, for all things happened so fast from that point that it is a blur, were the trees along the roadside and I in my carriage deep in thought. I thought of the good times we had shared together as youngsters, of the petty fights we got in, of how he shed a tear when I went off to join the army, of what we would do now when he is gone. My mind then drifted to the death of my father. Lucien had been there for me and me for him, us for Helene.
As always seems to be the case in such situations, the clouds rolled and collided together, merging into one dark shapeless mass that hung over the sky like a thick ash covered sheet. The earth’s mourning garb. I walked quickly up the halls to his chamber, decked in deep blue and bronze. There he lay with various loved one around him, or sitting just outside the door. This had to be the worst way to die, all those noisy people just waiting, waiting for you to take one last sputtering breath and pass on into eternity. When I die it will be a glorious defeat. They will have to steal life from me by force.
Nevertheless I approached him with a smile. “Brother?” He replied, “Brother.” We each smiled and I took his flushing hand. “Are you sure this sickness is the end?” He nodded. I knew it too. He had been fighting for a long time against it, a good warrior in that respect. He then handed me a note saying, “Read it when I’m gone, Guy. It won’t be too long now.” He chuckled. The chuckling turned into that horrible death murmur. He looked up and said, “The one nice thing about dying this way is you can plan it out. But really I have nothing more to say other than I love you. You are the profound one, Guy. I have confidence in you.” With that he closed his eyes and passed from this world into the next.
By the time I left the clouds had begun to cry, but I could not. I was grateful they could do it for me however. When I got home again, to cold, tacky bacon and brown apples I realized I was now Comte de Avignon.