The Many Forms of I

Macabre Revenge

This was inspired by Roald Dahl, who I TOTALLY LOVE!!

My uncle died a week ago.

He wasn't really my uncle, just a dear friend. So when he died, we threw a loud funeral for him. I saw him in his coffin. He looked so peaceful... As if death had removed the creases in his great caterpillar brows and the wrinkles in his parchment-white skin.

I had been the closest thing to family to the old man. He had come one day, as if on the whim of God, and swept into my life. I was very young then, and memories of that time were all but wisps of cloud. He had taken me out fishing, and had taught me how to cycle.

That was why he left everything he had to me. Well, almost everything.

I stared at the little glass bottle. It was full of a clear, transparent substance. What beautiful swirls the liquid had. Patterns of silver and gold.

Wasn't it a well-known fact that my uncle was an avid collector of vintage wines?

True, I had never heard of a wine like this before, but perhaps it was a kind of unknown wine, from the good years?

My hand reached out, and I almost immediately snatched it back. Turning, I walked away from the glass bottle with its beautiful contents. The rosewood table was mine; the valuable teak chest-of-drawers was mine; even his beat-up old dinosaur of a computer was mine. So why did I feel this sense of loss when I walked away from the little bottle filled with, to me, a wine as precious as water from the Fountain of Youth?

It had been left to the old man's son, a vindictive man who'd conveniently had an appointment on the day of the funeral and on every day Uncle had called on him. Ironic, isn't it? That what I craved most had been left to the person Uncle had hated the most.

The bottle called to me. On an impulse, I went back to it. I felt it. Smelt it. Pressed my cheek to the cool glass and looked inside, to the clear liquid that smelled like a thousand roses to me.

I put a hand to my chest. There was a sudden pain inside. The greed swirled and bubbled poisonously inside me. The heady fragrance wafted around me as I stared at the bottle through a blur of mist.

"Take it," something inside me whispered. "Take it. No one will know."

I struggled with the pain and the greed that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Just one little sip," my poisonous heart needled. "You've taken care of the old man your whole life. You deserve a little taste of his treasures. Remember, he left no other wines for you. Why don't you have a little taste?"

The struggle ended as I placed the bottle against my lips and drank, deeply. I must have taken a lot, for the bottle was empty when I put it down. I suddenly felt weightless, as if I was floating on a cloud.

***

"He's died of ethylene glycol, more simply known as antifreeze," Dr. Roberts said, feeling important as he effortlessly spouted the scientific jargon.

The clerk nodded, and tossed out the plain glass bottle that had been found by the corpse.

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