Absinthe Vines Essay Research Paper A little — страница 3

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Travis managed to hold back his disgust. He had found solace in the spirits of absinthe last night. “But how could you eat dead flesh?” “You don’t know what it’s like,” Ben answered, swinging around, protective now. “The manic depression, the ennui, everything that happens, I have no escape. Not even painting will release me, for I can not achieve true art unless through the souls of others. I’m nothing without the dead.” Travis nodded, understanding more than he ever imagined he could. Of course, he had never imagined drinking of rot and decay, born from the bodies of the dead. But hey, with his luck, that was the best thing that could happen. At least he had money. Ben sat down, his knees in the air, arms wrapped around them, face down, and began to cry.

——————————————————————————– “Where’s Thomas?” Ben asked later, after sauntering into the bar past eleven o’clock. Red, irritated skin hung around his eyes, but the dark shadows remained there. “I don’t know. He hasn’t shown up all day.” Ben pantomimed a swear, and pounded his fist into the table. “I needed to talk to him. Oh well, not much use now,” Ben answered. A tentative smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “You want to go have a drink?” Travis shrugged and nodded. There was nobody left in the bar, so it wouldn’t be too hard to close up. They crept down to the cellar slowly, taking great care not to kick up much dust with their shoes. This time neither reached for the chain to turn on the

lights. They wouldn’t need them. Ben went through the formalities, and gave a bottle to Travis. This time it had the same clotted scent of Ben’s vines, and the liquid was thick and syrupy. It had the fresh taste of sweet, cool death. Tonight they spoke urgently of places the must go sometime in their life, of things they must do. Ben had to go everywhere, do everything. Travis said he would rather stay in the same place the rest of his life. But that was the old Travis. The new Travis was an integral part of Ben now, he knew him better than himself. Travis knew of the abuse at an early age, Ben’s escape to drugs, Ben’s close call with death at the hands of the cold, chrome car on a rainy night, the night he discovered how sweet death was. This new Travis wanted all the

things Ben wanted. There was naught but a shred of him left. ——————————————————————————– And so they continued for days and days, which turned into months. Travis awoke one day without the comforting breath of Ben’s lungs across the room, ready to tell him about his newest masterpiece. He looked over sleepily in the general direction of the easel that he used, and saw Ben curled in a fetal position. Sleep had finally taken him after all this time. Small petals surrounded his tiny body, indicating a wormwood overdose. That night Travis drank alone. The absinthe was dark and sweet, like a fountain of honey and blood. It intensified with each death that it could absorb. That night it was pulsing with dead energy, and the rot of

the grave. Afterward, he came back to the apartment they had shared for two years, and saw nothing but the vines that had dominated the apartment for so long. Ben had become them, become the dark, leafy branches that Travis intertwined with his fingers at night. He knelt next to his friend’s final resting-place, and threw his wallet away. His last drifting thoughts disappeared into the night, dark and syrupy like the cold, inviting grip of death. Here’s something that’ll really get you through the night.