To Bear but Unfruitful

He sat himself comfortably in the cushioning of a red lounge chair. After relaxing his shoulders, he placed a small ceramic plate in front of him, atop a foot stool. Glowing keenly in the light was a small purple berry. He stared at it intently. Obviously, he craved whatever lie on that small dish, and it was only a matter of time before he gobbled it up. Yet, he continued to glare at it. His focus was interrupted by the cackling of burnt wood in the hearth beside him. The flames seemed to cast a rather large shadow behind the fruit. The man slowly raised the object with his thumb and pointer finger. His pupils shrunk to the size of small beads as they centered in on the minuscule treat. He drew the berry close to his nose and gave it a few calculated sniffs, similar to that of a dog. It didn't seem to smell like anything. This perplexed the man.

His hands grew tired of holding the fruit up, as they were ragged and veiny, so he placed it back onto the ceramic surface. For a moment he seemed nervous, his eyes flickering between the warm fire and the cold plate. He covered his face with his palm and slowly pulled down, tugging at the already loose skin under his eyes. His fingers somehow slipped past his boney cheeks and prickly beard to eventually rest, yet again, upon the berry.

He took a short breathe and nicked the fruit, quickly dropping it into his gummy mouth. He could feel the cool liquids oozing from it, pouring into the pits that once held his teeth. The fluid dribbled around his mouth in a sluggish manner, finally dripping down into his throat. He swallowed slowly and deliberately, making sure to ingest every droplet of the berry's contents. His eyes, resting on the fire in front of him, closed at such a speed that one could almost hear a creaking in the process. He waited patiently, counting the pops from the charred and blazing logs. For a moment, all was relatively calm and lax. He felt himself drifting toward a slothful slumber.

Unfortunately, before he could rest his frail frame, a jolt of pain struck up his chest and through to his head. He tried to cry out in pain, but could only muster a tight gasp. His face shuttered, hands grasping onto the chair with great strength. His feet twitched ever so slightly, seemingly matching the tempo of the burning firewood. His eyes gently peeled toward the back of his head, and his flailing abruptly stopped. The man lay splayed on the chair, the heat of the hearth barely managing to combat the cold that would slowly consume his body. Even so his face seemed content, satisfied with the rapid series of events. Certainly, even beyond the veil, he was still enjoying the aftertaste of what he left behind.

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