The Blue Light
The wind was blowing headstrong on the house of Norman Diamond. And the rain pattered on the black slate roof, dripping on the maroon carpet. But that was the least of his worries. It was a dreary night; the kind in which you might feel like just sitting for a while, like Norman was doing. The room was only candlelit, and the flame played games with the shadows on the walls. The room was furnished with a picture perfect coffee table. It was hand-carved redwood with a glass surface framed with gold of quintessential beauty. But it was worn down. The edges were tinted brown, and the matching wooden coasters had all been chipped and lay scattered on the table. On the other side of the room was an elegant bar, with glasses and drinks of all kinds. And in one corner of the room, Norman sat in his favorite leather recliner reading his favorite book, The Blue Light. This was his eighth time reading it now, and he was still enjoying it. He shook his glass filled with ice and bourbon and took a sip, but his lips only felt the cold ice. Norman let his book down on the coffee table, just missing a stray coaster. He tied his robe tight; however careful not to make wrinkles, as he made his way to the bar and took hold of a bottle. He was not sure what it held, but continued without notice. With one hand holding his glass, and the other the bottle, Norman began to pour, but nothing released from the bottle. His hand began to shake, the ice jingled inside his glass, and it fell to the floor, sending glass scattering. But that was the least of his worries.