IF THERE’S SOMETHING STILL TO TAKE

He entered through the elegantly adorned wooden doors, striding through the room until he reached the head of the table. A new suit for this occasion. It was still a bit stiff, so walking felt laborious. It was such a shame that a suit's best time only lasted such a short while. First, you had to get through that stifling stiffness, and a moment later, everyone had already seen enough. The red wine was only an arm's reach away, the glass sparkling like diamonds. He swirled it, held it to the light. Beautiful liquid, dancing as he commanded. Far better than the appetisers he poked in once, failed to collect anything on his fork, then pushed them away.

Sparkling red in the glass. And red on the plate before him. The swirling heat emerging from the steak was unlike the liquid motion of the wine. He started smelling it just after he could taste it. The silver knife cut perfectly through the meat, just how he liked it. But that's just how life is, not a moment of peace. He sighed. "William."

"Yes, Sir," answered the man sitting at his table. They say he is quite something to look at, but his suit wasn't even worth a glance, not even a new accessory. Besides, he had seen this attire several times before. At least he was obedient, well-trained.

"The numbers. They are disastrous." He cut into his steak again.

"Yes. We've never seen a rise this slow before. The multiplicators are-"

"What are we invested in right now?" He noticed a cut in his ceramic. It was time to get a new set. It would have to suffice till the end of dinner.

"Hm, the usual, Sir. Everything you have to be invested in." Did he always have to be so loud? At least letting him sit had reduced his antsiness, but then there was still this biting voice.

"What is the neighbour invested in? He seems quite well off these days. I'm sure he's laughing at me right this moment. Basking in our misery." He had lost his appetite at that thought. The neighbour was a degenerate old man, had been bragging about his exotic carpets just the other day. He should get new carpets as well, he decided. The corridors were getting awfully familiar to him. Just by looking at the carpet on the floor or the picture on the wall, he could almost immediately recognise which part of the house he was in. Yes, he should also get new paintings. Brilliant. He would have something to share the next time he met the neighbour.

"As far as I know, he is mainly investing in weapons at the time, Sir."

"Then we shall do that as well."

"Well, Sir, we already are." He cleared his throat. "It isn't selling well at the moment."

"Not selling well?" He looked up at him, since the other man must surely have been jesting. He didn't carry the look of jest.

"I'm afraid not, Sir."

"But we were angry just yesterday! What is keeping the people occupied?" Preposterous. The people were changing their minds by the hour these days. How was one supposed to speculate when the news always reached him an hour too late? "Tell me, what is it?" he demanded.

"Hunger, Sir."

"Isn't it always?" he sighed again. "See, I can relate. Hunger keeps you a bit restless, but you can't sit around doing nothing just because of it. You don't see me slacking off, do you?"

"Of course not, Sir."

He always had something important to do, but he never allowed discomfort to get in his way. The best evidence was sitting at his table right now. He was tapping on the wood, still warm from his serving of steak, which was thankfully gone. He didn't like the smell of it lingering under his nose for so long. "Either way, they don't know hunger as we do. I have ambitions far higher than they could comprehend. If they can't afford to dream of higher ambitions, then they should stop coveting it." He didn't get a response, so he moved on. "Besides, it is not our fault that we are hungry, is it?"

"No, Sir."

His tapping increased, his eyes cut the point in the man's neck where he could see him swallowing. Then he stopped tapping; it was getting on his nerves. "William."

"Yes, Sir?"

"If it is not our fault, then, naturally, it is theirs."

"Naturally," he agreed.

"You know them, right? You have a picture in your mind." He was nodding in consensus. "They are to blame." He smirked at the man. "Are you angry, William? Angry at them?"

"Naturally."

"Good. Remember this, William: If you are hungry, they are to blame. You should tell it to the next one begging on the street. Tell it to the mother. Whisper it at the funeral and yell it to the masses on the market." He let his wine dance in the crystal glass again. Red flowing from one side to the other, a few drops threatening to leave their containment. He smiled as a small bead fell onto the tablecloth, staining it scarlet.

"And when you're enraged, William, I'm sure you would feel urged to do something about it. Make them pay for it." He punctured the man's eyes with his gaze. "Do you want to make them pay for it?"

"The hungry will want revenge for their suffering." The man avoided his eyes. Just as he had thought that he needed a new William, the current one showed him that he was not all he thought him to be. He tipped his glass over, spilling his wine all over the table and beyond. The staining was fascinating, capturing the table, the floor and William into its wholeness. He was truly a cultured soul. What other artist could have created such a sight?

"If they are suffering from hunger so badly, I want you to feed them, William. I am benevolent after all, am I not? Feed them salty anger." He smiled at the other man. Although he didn't return it, he stayed silent. Obedient, well-trained, but still easy to read. A good dog doesn't think; it carries out its master's commands. And bad dogs get shot.

"Now, I would like to eat something. Business is exhausting. And bring me white wine, I'm tired of red."

Verose Céramine has been a passionate writer ever since she, well, learned how to write. While she spent her math classes writing stories back then, today she is trying her best to balance her time writing with handling stupid Excel sheets and preventing cat fur from clogging her keyboard. Even though she had always been experimental, she found her home in fantasy worlds and does enjoy a good romance from time to time.