The Gentleman lifted his voice as if to salute, then sat up on the large black leather couch.
“Give me a command,” he said, as if in recitation at the half used detergent bottle marked ‘Lord Darbosol.’
A glass of red wine, deep in color as was his voice in pitch, stood near as the intermittent crackling of the fireplace peacefully lit the room aglow.
The red detergent bottle sat on top of its mantle like the God Piece of an altar. It bore the illustration of a big muscular working man in a white T-shirt.
The slight moans of what was left of a human being echoed throughout the splendorous oak room. Laid out between him and the fire. His moaning sounded hollow, no doubt an effect of the assorted drugs in his system. It was if the being were really trying to scream, but ended with a muffled roar, a muted cacophony of unspeakable noise barely making a sound from beyond a wall.
“Hmm, this wine is very good.”, the Gentleman said. His head tilted with latent curiosity at how the white yellow hues from the fire were so halted by the thick body of the wine…