Drink from the whole wine

The goldfish wasn’t the only witness to the turn of events that evening, and even he hid out of sight on the edges of the bowl, like an illusionist playing with the optics of the glass globe. His was a fish eyed view of the large rotund figure collapsed in the traditional styled red leather armchair with its high back and unusually large wings. It was built to last, not like the quickly decaying body of the man. The chair’s wings appeared like dark silhouettes and would not have been out of place as large flapping ears on the head of an elephant. Those large wings: lookalike elephant’s ears were designed with a purpose. From a sideview angle it kept the seated individual out of sight, only a frontal view revealed the person who occupied the soft and worn leather armchair. Moving to the frontal view it clearly showed the collapsed obese occupier of the armchair covering every centimeter of the upholstery, his body tightly wedged into the old chair. His body overflowed upwards like the undulating pedal waves of a slug avoiding a puddle in a bucket after a sudden unexpected rain shower.

The overweight man was distraught, breathing uneasily, his face was blotched, sweating, resembling a bruised peach.

Only the goldfish peering from the curved edge of the bowl could see the overweight occupier of the armchair, and he was never going to talk to anybody about the incident that took place in the room that night. It was a dark and stormy night outside the house, but in the dark of the room, only lit by the open fire, the room’s interior was completely unaware of the wind and torrential rain conditions on its outer skin. The dark room inside the house could have been in another realm, a different house, the environment in the room was silent, except for the mumbling of the fire. Just like the goldfish bowl inside the room, and the room inside the house which was being constantly battered by the storm. All the environments were connected, yet again they were unconnected. They were oblivious to each other, and yet at the same time they were linked to each other.

It was the same for the ghosts watching and hovering on the edges of yet another environment, another realm. The ghosts could not feel the wrath of the storm outside, nor the simmering heat from the fire in the room. Nor could they ever discuss politics with the goldfish in the bowl, they were also disconnected, but at the same time connected in this drama.

“We’re on the bubble, still in the game, but it could burst and come to nothing in the end. It depends now on our fat lump of a slug; Earnest.” Said one ghost to the other.

“Come on pumpkin head, let’s understand what skeletons you have in the closet. No matter how filthy, dirty and cobwebbed in may be. Let’s see.” Said the other referring to the panting overweight man overflowing in the red upholstered leather armchair with unusual large wings shaped like elephant ears.

“He’s getting near to the door now; it must be frightening for him digging up the past. What memories does he imagine, because soon that’s all that will be left – memories. It comes to us all my dear fat slug of a friend. Enjoy the whole of the wine while it lasts. Until your final breath, remember the fragrance, the bouquet, as nothing will remain when it reaches the palate – nothing! Just memories.”

In the dead of night as the storm outside raged with demented and inconsolable fury, as the panting of the corpulent man slouched in the armchair stared at the goldfish bowl. His stare was not fixed on the bowl at all, he was blind to all in the room, he only looked within himself, urgently scrolling through the memory banks of his mind. After the slow easing of his panting from his previous exertions, quite suddenly he burst into a violent sobbing fit, which rudely awakened the uneasy peace which was settling like evening dusk in the room. The sobbing caused his frame, especially his large chest to heave uncontrollably, as tears appeared and blurred his outer vision. Then the tears started to run along the etched lines on his ruddy face, finally dripping onto his trousers.

“Now the witching hour my friend Earnest.” Said one of the ghosts. “The soul would not have a rainbow, if the eyes didn’t have tears.”

“Start to remember your web of lies and deceit, as the veil of truth is being lifted. Where are those you loved, or those that loved you? Now that the final hour awaits.” Said the other.

A dark shadow that wasn’t a shadow at all seeped into the dimly lit room. It was a collector of sorts, who had come to claim something that was neither a debt nor a credit, just a due. Only the soul of the man, not the body slouched in the armchair recognized the purpose of the uninvited guest. The dark shadow: unlike any shadow as it could never be illuminated or dissolved by the brightest sun in the universe. The dark shadow waited in the room, as it was nearly time. Time slowed to a single heartbeat, and the associated stimulus connected to reflexive actions of the body were alerted, life was ending.

Only the soul of the man in the armchair, had previous experiences of the departure, the separation. As his active mind was beginning to panic, memory banks were being actively searched, flooding the mind with re-evaluations, sometimes new revelations. The heart pumped harder wanting more oxygen, more stimulus, to be indulged, greedily devouring the final sands of time. Although there was still time with the last granules of the hourglass to be thoughtful, humble and forgiving in thought. Final confessions and the cleansing of the soul in the presence of the haunting ghosts of another time, a previous time, as they gleefully watched and waited. Enjoying every morsel of his final moments of agony.

The goldfish blinked, the dark shadow, and the man’s soul had disappeared, leaving only the ghosts to gloat over the swollen husk of body slouched in the red leather elephant eared armchair.

“Heaven lent you a soul, Earth will lend a grave.” Were the final words uttered by one of the ghosts.