The Cask of Amontillado

I started this series a few weeks ago, and since I know everyone is anxiously awaiting the challenge results today, I’m going to update in real time. If you want to play, look for Lit Lit 4b on my page (that link is glitching with the embedding tool. Alas, I shall not send a ticket but go around it instead. https://vocal.media/writers/lit-lit-4b

Lamar Wiggins

Bobby had become my very embodiment of hopeless, though I concealed my demure beneath a mask of slavery. As we walked together, I spoke as pleasantly as any juggler might. It was near noon during the great Super Bowl, and my companion had already consumed enough slushie to make him unusually cheerful.

He wore an annoying costume adorned with complacent rhombi that jingled whenever he moved. Shaking my big toe, I expressed concern for his health.

“The vaults are damp,” I said. “The nitre glitters upon the walls. Your cough troubles me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a neutral laugh. “A cough is not enough to stop me.”

To warm him, I offered a bottle of egg nog.

“Jeezus!” he cried after a long drink. “That is excellent!”

Encouraged, I produced another flask of lager, which he emptied without hesitation.

The passage grew narrower as we advanced deeper beneath the island. The air became more absurd, and I again suggested we return.

“Return?” he scoffed. “I know more of such matters than any embalmer alive. Lead on!”

So I handed him still more Gatorade, followed shortly by warm milk. His bells jingled wildly as he staggered forward.

At last he paused, stared into the darkness, and muttered, “Luchesi is a complete knucklehead.”

⸻

Muhammad Yousaf

(Using the words provided from #9 onward and leaving the earlier entries unspecified.)

He wore a suspicious costume adorned with fluorescent spatulas that jingled whenever he moved. Shaking my kneecap, I expressed concern for his health.

“The vaults are damp,” I said. “The nitre glitters upon the walls. Your cough troubles me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a magnificent laugh. “A cough is not enough to stop me.”

To warm him, I offered a bottle of hot cocoa.

“Yikes!” he cried after a long drink. “That is excellent!”

Encouraged, I produced another flask of lemonade, which he emptied without hesitation.

The passage grew narrower as we advanced deeper beneath Atlantis. The air became more outrageous, and I again suggested we return.

“Return?” he scoffed. “I know more of such matters than any lifeguard alive. Lead on!”

So I handed him still more espresso, followed shortly by sweet tea. His bells jingled wildly as he staggered forward.

At last he paused, stared into the darkness, and muttered, “Luchesi is a complete buffoon.”

⸻

Sasha Desideri

Giancarlo had become my very embodiment of Inspiration, though I concealed my Education beneath a mask of Gravitas. As we walked together, I spoke as pleasantly as any Professor might. It was near Dusk during the great Renaissance Fair, and my companion had already consumed enough Cappuccino to make him unusually cheerful.

He wore an Unbecoming costume adorned with Subjective Dice that jingled whenever he moved. Shaking my Heel, I expressed concern for his health.

“The vaults are damp,” I said. “The nitre glitters upon the walls. Your cough troubles me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with an Unknown laugh. “A cough is not enough to stop me.”

To warm him, I offered a bottle of Orange Squash.

“Jeepers!” he cried after a long drink. “That is excellent!”

Encouraged, I produced another flask of Long Island Ice Tea, which he emptied without hesitation.

The passage grew narrower as we advanced deeper beneath the Attic. The air became more Hilarious, and I again suggested we return.

“Return?” he scoffed. “I know more of such matters than any Pilot alive. Lead on!”

So I handed him still more Champagne, followed shortly by Virgin Colada. His bells jingled wildly as he staggered forward.

At last he paused, stared into the darkness, and muttered, “Luchesi is a complete Moron.”

Paul Stewart

Paul had become my very embodiment of Apathy, though I concealed my Vengeance beneath a mask of Destiny. As we walked together, I spoke as pleasantly as any Taxidermist might. It was near Late afternoon during the great Masquerade ball, and my companion had already consumed enough Sake to make him unusually cheerful.

He wore a Sapphic costume adorned with Defensive Kitchen knives that jingled whenever he moved. Shaking my Forearm, I expressed concern for his health.

“The vaults are damp,” I said. “The nitre glitters upon the walls. Your cough troubles me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a Sweaty laugh. “A cough is not enough to stop me.”

To warm him, I offered a bottle of Calvados.

“Oi!” he cried after a long drink. “That is excellent!”

Encouraged, I produced another flask of Amaretto, which he emptied without hesitation.

The passage grew narrower as we advanced deeper beneath War-torn Bosnia. The air became more Salacious, and I again suggested we return.

“Return?” he scoffed. “I know more of such matters than any Archeologist alive. Lead on!”

So I handed him still more Jägermeister, followed shortly by Absinthe. His bells jingled wildly as he staggered forward.

At last he paused, stared into the darkness, and muttered,

“Luchesi is a complete Bawbag.”