Rich was on the road to destruction. He had done so much he was proud of and even more he was not proud of. Those things ate at him, chomped away his dignity little by little.
He started out his journey to grandma's house as we all do with a big smile, lots of energy and a basket packed with delectable goodies and great ideas. En route he met the wolf. Suffice to say towards the tail end of the journey Richard exchanged his good ideas and ambitious ideals for salacious exchanges with this wolf he had fallen for. This wolf drove him to drink and fuck and hurt and howl at the moon and shy away from the sun. I saw him sometimes, using the shadow of dark alleys as a veil. He would take comfort in the ridiculous. The more he exchanged himself for the wolf the more he found himself alone. Alienated.
Until the morning his flat mate found him shivering beneath filthy duvets and soiled sheets. The rest of the dank den was not unusually untidy; his friend saw a pool of blood near the basin in the bathroom. There was no bath only bloody finger prints on the wall, which his elderly aunt had to later remove whilst they were dealing with the preparations. The metalic smell of blood mixed with handy andy tickled the back of her throat. His flat mate yelled something at Rich, something usual, something like, why is this place looking like a pigsty and we cant live like this. Thenhe decided to take a nap, thinking Rich too intoxicated to respond. Irritated that his life had come to this. Having to shack up with a friend that leaves pools of blood in front of the basin, that can't be bothered to pick up the chairs and pieces of glass. Irritated that this was a reflection of himself, a visualisation of all that must change. Of his mind. He left Rich to sleep. Rich never woke again. His friend did though, he woke up still angry at Rich but a little concern was creeping into the corners of his mind. He went over to the bed. Shook Rich and pulled off the blankets when he felt Richard's temperature. He was ice cold. Like the beer he loved to drink. Ice cold but the shivering had stopped. That's when he noticed the tear in his shirt and then in his skin. A small incision no bigger than the tip of a blade. Panicked he called another friend. At this point we all wondered, why not call the police?
His elderly aunt wondered later why not be shocked to see all this blood?
The other friend told friend number 1 to come over and have a cup of tea. Tea?
Could it have been the cup of tea, the shower he had, the fact that he first went home to his parents' house for some food, all this time Rich too weak to ask for help lies covered in filth and muck bleeding to death.
Could that time wasted have killed Rich, or this vicious tip of the blade wedged into his innards? Surely a little stab wound could not have caused that much damage. Sure.
All the while Rich is floating in and out of consciousness. Wrestling with his wolf. Begging him to leave this hollowed out den and let the light in one last time.
Some lair using animals build their lairs while others use hollows which occur naturally. Rich was a hollow that I occurred naturally. I loved him, I miss him. Rest in peace my dear dear friend.
