victory. It is, at the same time, unfortunate that you will
not survive the experience.”
The prospect of imminent death registered
immediately but I was too weak to protest. Protest would
have been futile in any event.
I well understand that there is no greater law than
mortality. How many of God's noble creatures have I
carelessly trod upon? How many deer have I felled for
sport? How many living things have been sacrificed for my
own nourishment? Who is to say that a heavenly hand is
not behind all of this. Life must end. I knew this. Even
Wertenberg must recognize his own impermanence. As to
my own fate, I had expected an old man's demise. A heart
attack, a stroke, a malignant cell that divides aggressively
and undetected. Wertenberg's discursion did not alter this
expectation.
I hadn’t noticed until now that my craving for the
liquid had disappeared. A profound weariness was rushing
me to sleep but I was no longer desperate to return to the
dream. In the distance, I could hear the faint tinkling of
small bells or chimes in the wind.
“I'll close my eyes now” I murmured, as much to
myself as Wertenberg, “and rest. But only for a moment.”
“In peace, dear boy. In peace.”
Influenced by Christopher Lee movies during Halloween, W.C. Mallery
crafted “Grave” to be a dark tale in the Gothic style. Mallery has been a
lawyer, a teacher, and a tender of bar. His stories have been published in
Tinge Magazine and Junto Magazine.
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