Immaculate Brothers

Matsuo reflected, resting his enlightened gaze upon yet another empty bottle of Tequila. Staring through narrow eye lids, his vision slurred. The image he saw out of the bottle very much resembled that of a headstone.

“Devoured by night, the day gave flight… Chased off by a black sea of stars…” Matsuo said with a quivering modulation. Atrophied concentration caused the bottle to slide slowly from his drowsy hands. “…a final bottle of sunshine.”

“It’s not just the last bottle of sunshine.” Brandt spoke softly, placing a hand of condolence approximately two inches away from and above Matsuo’s lazy shoulders. He left it to hover there for a moment while his free hand slowly scooped the empty bottle up and away from his favorite drinking companions flaccid grip.

Ever slackening, Matsuo made an honest effort at control as his head bobbed and tipped into place. His eyes, now fixed upon Brandt, were positioned with a lazy scrutiny. It was his turn to initiate the bottle. Soft waves of adrenaline, oscillated up from the tips of his toes to the nerve endings in his face.

Brandt slid down the bench with minimal friction – aerodynamic ease realized through drunken disdain. Forfeiting his mild contempt, Matsuo’s vision settled downward in observance.

At the very end of the room a tightly arranged battalion of obelisk soldiers stood frozen in heroic tribute as their latest comrade fell into rank. Mechanically, Brandt introduced the empty Tequila bottle to its position on the rubber mat.

Commemorating the induction from his seat, a pressure behind Matsuo’s eyes lent the rows of empty glass a glowing, white delineation. An entire cemetery now materialized out of the neatly arranged troop.

A sudden flicker of electricity instructed Matsuo’s arm to swing away from his body and into his line of site. Resting in his hand was a diamond shaped plug, bounded by a blood red palm. He couldn’t recall where the blood originated or who it belonged to.

“Uh, huh…” Brandt drifted in, lifting the bottle top away. “There you go. Standard issue infantry head gear.” He pressed the plug into place, sat up and raised his hand in salute. “As an emissary of the state, I hereby commend your service as a member in her majesties, royal subterranean forces.”

Alongside his immaculate brothers, the crimson enameled bottle was poised with a conspicuous dominion. The bottles blurred into disarray as Brandt’s bottom lip quivered, his face laboring to impede the ebb of swelling tears.

The crimson bottles astral voice, silently declined to give benediction. Its proxy was pitched forward in languid vigil of a pallid, diamond shaped silhouette cropped in blood. Forever captivated by the bizarre symbol imbued upon his palm, Matsuo released a final outward breath.

“It was your last bottle of sunshine.” Brandt said as he slid back down the bench. Resting adjacent to Matsuo, he placed an arm around his friends ravaged body, emphatically exonerating the tears he had temporarily subdued.

As his gentle sobbing reverberated off the anteroom walls, Brandt trembled in the vacuous demeanor the alcove most recently acquired.


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One Response to “Immaculate Brothers”

  1. megaberg Says:

    One of my favorite short stories and part of a growing creative writing universe. What do you all think?

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