The Bitter Wine Memento

Once More

Round Mr Philip Pomeroy, what little I have left has had enough.

"It’s about time I leave now. Mrs Pomeroy is probably worried. Sorry, but I better go."

The plump man scurries between the tables, putting on his jacket as he goes. He does not answer when I call for him. He turns as he picks his hat off the shelf.
"It’s almost morning time. You’d do best in going home and sleeping off that bitter wine. You’ll see it will be better come morning."

With those words he leaves, tinkling the bell as he does so. I am alone, again.

The little light on my table glows dark orange and weakly. It sighs quietly, sways to the rhythm of my breathing. Swaying, dancing one last dance. I raise my glass and swallow what is left in one gulp. The heat rushes past my lips, makes them burn numbly, roasts my tongue and throat and heats up my belly. It sinks like a rock, a feeling that has by now become well-known. Guilt weighs the last drops of the wine down. I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and put the glass firmly down on the table. And so, with a silent poof, the light dies. That is that.

I am a voice in the darkness.

"Dr Barley, my sweet little Dana Sue, I am sorry! I’m so very sorry. And Laura, Laura, my love. If you would forgive me!"

Only silence replies.

"Then once more, I beg you..."

The revolver clicks. I place it at my temple, by the hardened vein. Bang.

"What’s that? I think I hear it. The soft, airy sound of a cello! Laura..."