Of Unsound Mind

Of Unsound Mind

‘Creator of the fruit of the vine. Let the blood of Christ touch my lips, wash my tongue, flow and splash and rush through my body and through my heavenly soul. Let the velvet cool my throat and pass no judgement on me. May my sins bear no malice and my fear be reverted to good, not evil.’ Richard Yerlin raised the chalice into the half-dark sky before lowering it to his mouth. He poured the fluid onto his tongue, the wine tasted pure as it had done so a thousand times before. A few droplets of dull red splashed gently onto his beard causing an almost stalagmite formation to form intertwined in the thickness of grey. The old man placed the chalice back onto the wooden piece of furniture used to hold such a cup and moved slowly into a position of prayer, placing his withered hand on the book that brought him to this moment. His face filled with acceptance. He whispered. ‘Forgive me’. And with that echoing softly in the midnight air, his white throat was cut.
‘Got to love his spirit’ said Mr. Cheeseman, winking to his partner as he said it and waiting for the acknowledgement of his rather inappropriate pun, one that Mr. Cheeseman found hysterically amusing however and showed it through his uncontrollable laughter and theatrical slapping of his thigh. ‘Do you think we have time for dinner Mr. Cheeseman?’ said Mr. Walker interrupting the now hissing laughter that Mr. Cheeseman had succumbed to. ‘Yeah, plenty of time Mr. Walker’ said Mr. Cheeseman. And with that Mr. Walker took a huge bite out of the face of the recently deceased old man. ‘Face facts Mr. Cheeseman’ grumbled Mr. Walker with a face full of face, winking as he chewed, ‘he’s got a very sweet tasting nose’. He giggled like a school girl. ‘Shut up Mr. Walker’.