My reflection appears imperceptibly on the surface of the wine, my face wavering with the movement of the liquid. Brushing my hands against the spirals of chilled glass, I enjoy the silence reigning in the room. The reddish color in the glass can be associated with many abstract concepts such as death, in its rawest form. Blood carries a certain bitterness, just like wine. A gentle death, according to me, is therefore a death without that bitterness, taking place in a calm, intimate environment.
I take a sip, the first one. A familiar acidity fills my mouth, followed by a certain aftertaste.
Death is an abstract concept materialized by humans, each having their own interpretation according to their beliefs, that is what makes it so complex. Many speak of the liberation of the soul, but liberated from what exactly ? The true prison of the soul is not found in the flesh, but in the soul itself. All those memories, those things we try to forget, they will never disappear, no matter what we do even in this world. Some are tormented, suffering forever, and yet without a physical body, there lies the dilemma. No nerves, no veins and yet, the pain is still there and persists.
The second one seems softer to me, I take the time to savor it a little more.
The reason for the persistence in wanting to live of certain people escapes me, when there is no hope left that binds us to our existence, why search for one in vain ? I tried to find one, I thought I had found it but it was only an illusion. Nothing I can do today will change the past, nothing will allow me to forget. I tried to forgive myself, but the true reason behind guilt is the duty of memory, I must not forget it. It is not my only motivation, but I try to convince myself of it, to look past the rest, because deep down the other reasons will no doubt seem futile to others.
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The chilled glass resting against my skin, the level of wine decreases little by little.
The quiet of the room begins to seem deafening to me, but I find a certain charm in it. I could have hired staff, using them to have a form of life in the middle of this place. But it would never have filled the incessant feeling of solitude.
I close my eyes gently, enjoying one last moment of this atmosphere, without being troubled by the pain already coursing through my body. I struggle not to tremble, still holding the glass in my hand, preparing to swallow the last sip.
I raise the glass to my mouth. Just one more sip.
I feel something disturbing the silence around me, but the sound reaches me as if through a thick barrier. The burning rises slowly, insinuates itself into my limbs, weighs down each breath. My thoughts fragment, scatter, and I cling for a moment longer, before everything begins to slip. I did not have the necessary strength to clearly distinguish what had caused that noise.
I can perceive some hair with silver reflections. It is her, my last image before everything goes dark. I do not have the time to say a word to her before I hear myself fall to the floor at the same time as the shattering of glass.
"Ezra !"
