13 May 2012
The comforting prospect of sleep is too distant to be thought of. If I let my mind wander the endless plains of dreams I fear I shall not return. I turn my head towards my bed but sigh in regret; I have thought of sleep and now it may hit me at any moment: its tender hands may guide my heavy body onto my bed and caress me into a deep dreamless slumber any second now... I picture my lifeless body in the armchair, cold and unmoving. How long will it take someone to discover me? A day? A year? I drum on the arm chair with my nails. My wrinkles illuminated by the warm fire and I let my head relax into the soft velvet. A good place to die; in my best armchair, next to the fire, in my library. Hopefully someone will remember the nice old man who lived in the large house but I doubt it. My time is up; Oliver said so.
This is my own personal add on from Oliver Dolwyn By Noonington.
The Old Man. • Opuss № I