For the Love of Wine
Photo by Angie La Paglia McNeill
Fortunado’s muscles jerked him awake, but the wine held his lids closed tight. The moldy air he breathed curled around his tongue and settled deep in his lungs, heavy and damp. A dull scraping grated against his ears. Cold stone pressed against his back, chilling him to his core.
He shivered and tried to move forward, away from the cool block, but something held him in place. He moved his leg and shifted his hips, but again he met resistance. Blinking hard he rubbed a hand across his face pushing back the effects of the wine.
His pulse spiked. His eyes flew open, instantly sober. Fingers numb from the cold jerked and fumbled with the chain around his waist.
“Montresor! Montresor!” he called.
The only answer was the slap of mud and the scrape of a trowel. He couldn’t see his friend behind the ever growing wall, but the sounds of Montresor’s labor gave him away.
The room grew darker with each brick placed; Fortunado jerked and yelled and moaned and cried until his throat ached and his lungs burned.
“Montresor,” he whispered.
“Nemo me impune lacessit.*” Montresor replied. “Rest in peace my friend.” And the last brick slid home.
*no one attacks me with impunity
A tribute to Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”