Succession of Knowledge

Three points of view

1. The bottle is almost empty, Christ its heavy.
“Shit!” where’s a damn towel?! Forget this, just another sweater to trash.
Sweet relief. The best burn, you wont begrudge me one last drink will ya honey? Whew, nice and strong. Of course, you won’t hold this against me. Ha ha ha. And even if she does, I won’t be facing her for a long time. I wonder if she’s watching. Prolly got ‘er nose too deep in those books to give a thought to what I do. Never cared a damn thing. Didn’t even love me. Better without that. This cup’s all I need for a lover. A toast to us, my friend! DAMMIT. Em’ll be mad if I stain her carpet. No—it’s my damn carpet now!
Smells nice, wonder how she got it so clean. Well that’s a pretty picture, is that new, Emma? Did you do it while I was at work? Baby, I love surprises. And you curled your hair; I like it best that way. Wait, Em, wait! I’m sorry for yelling. Don’t go. Damn I’ll never forgive you for leaving me alone like this.



2. He pours a class, the dark liquid splashing onto his white oxford sweater.
“Shit!” he exclaims, trying to sop up the stain with a frilly lavender hand towel.
After mumbling something that comes out sounding much like “Screw it”, he lifts the full glass to his red lips, the ones that usually smile underneath his arrow-straight nose, which begins protruding between his crystal, currently red-rimmed, eyes. A deep gulp, a deeper breath to steady himself, he probably can’t even recall why he started drinking. Maybe it was a kind of pain that drove him here, maybe he liked the fire, who knows? He downs more whiskey.
Another spatter, this one finds a home on the impeccably clean tan carpet. He bears a look that resembles worry or deep concentration but it fades before the alcohol even seeps in to the floor.
Sinking onto his knees, he drains the contents of the glass. It lands on the floor with a thud, and after a brief swaying moment, he follows suit.
He lies powerless, crumpled and broken, staring at the lavish crown molding, artfully encircling the place where creamy walls meet the ceiling. A smile shapes his lips while red glassy eyes rest on this decorative pattern, picked out on a happier day not to be recollected. It is the last image he beholds before the cold darkness pulls him under.



3. News Cast:
Yesterday, multi-millionaire Marcus A. Berwick, husband of heiress Catherine Berwick, was found dead in his uptown New York City penthouse. Mrs. Berwick had been oversees for a few months and declined an interview, but authorities say that a maid discovered the body on the living room floor upon coming in for her monthly cleaning. An autopsy revealed the cause of death as alcohol poisoning, due to a substance overdose. Time of death is estimated to be about two weeks prior this discovery. Neighbors were shocked to find out that this his body had gone so long undetected. One Camille Aram was quoted saying that she “would certainly be making an increased effort to check on the wellbeing of her neighbors in the future.” Maybe we should all take a little more time out of our daily schedules to think about others. Funeral dates are yet to be announced for Mr. Berwick but I’m certain many will come to pay their respects to this honored monument of our time.