Character Flaw (205 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Draqus (View user info) at 2005-07-18 19:22:55 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
He sits alone, and sips brandy. The clock chimes every hour, and the fire crackles as it eats its way through the last log it will ever see.
He sits alone, and his hands twitch and slither over each other, and his eyes dart from place to place, seeking some undefined truth in the dark.
He sits alone, and his body is wracked by vicious bouts of coughing that leave his handkerchief stained with spots of blood.
He is ready to die; there is nothing left for him now. Everything that he built up has been destroyed in the same manner that it was built it up.
It was his thirst that was his flaw, that left him poisoned by enemies and stripped by rivals: thirst for drink, thirst for women- and that was insatiable until a few years ago- but primarily thirst for power. His cravings would only be satiated by total and utter dominance, and he spent his life striving to achieve such a position, to no avail, of course, because there are always honest men, just as there are always those that are dishonest.
He only lives for one purpose: to hear of the success of his last plan. He has no loyal men left, save for one, who gladly agreed to perform the final mighty deed. His empire has crumbled beneath him, leaving him childless, wifeless, without his former fortune or fortress; the manor house of power has been cleared of its trappings, left an empty husk, a shell of the old glories.
As he sits in the near dark, his mind wanders to the bygone times, the height of his influence: he controlled businesses, entire wings of the police force, headed a formidable fraternity and a loyal family. His love for his wife was shattered when they killed her, a revenge for his deeds.
He blames his decline on that event; he recognised his flaw at that moment, the terrible costs for his mighty profits, the costs that made it hollow. But he has a tribute to pay to her, beyond the grave and in happier places, a vengeance that shall grant him the power he so dearly craves, even when he can recognise his thirst as his deepest flaw.
The lamps give out no more light; they died several hours ago. The only light comes from the dying fire.
It dies, as all things do, and leaves him in the dark.
"You won't last much longer," his rival tells him. His hands flail at the shadows, and he croaks weak defiance.
"You are beaten, defeated, a withered shell of your former glory," his rival sneers. His cheeks run hotly with tears.
"I was only trying to protect my family."
"You chose the wrong game for that, old man."
He sobs, and buries his face in his trembling hands.
"I was only doing what any good father would do!"
"Bribery? Extortion? Beatings? Murder?"
He finds what little strength he has, and howls. His vision dissipates, and he falls back into his chair. The left hand cradles the brandy, and the right hand grasps the arm of the chair with a mad desperation.
"I am corrupted," he whispers. Behind him, the high windows begin to bleed in fire-light from buildings several miles away. He takes his final sip to quench his thirst.
The brandy glass slips from his fingers and hits the soft carpet without a sound, the golden liquid soaking into the thick pile.
"It's a flaw," she had said, "but it's a good one; it makes you stronger."
His empty husk begs to differ.
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Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:35:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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