Wizardness

A man is staring into his fire place. He’s graying at the temples. His goatee has flecks of gray. The fire crackles invitingly.
The rest of the room is cloaked in dancing shadow. The worn leather chair casts large looming shadows across the back wall. The edges of the chair jut like wings across the back wall.
There’s a table next to the chair on which a pair of horn rimmed glasses rests with their legs half folded pressing into a bottle. The bottle has dust covering on its shoulders. There’s a hand print in the dust. The label says it’s a Laphroig 18. The cork is sitting next to his glasses. there’s a smokey aroma emanating from the bottle.
The man’s hand is wrapped around a rocks glass. There’s condensation dripping onto the armrest.
Ice tinked starling the man. He lifted the glass, swirled the contents, and took a sip. He grimaces as he holds the liquid on his tongue. He’d swallowed by the time he’d replaced the glass on the chair.
The man raises his shaggy eye brows, glittering blue eyes glance at a picture resting on the mantle. It’s a happy couple, dancing at their wedding. He’s one of the two people in the picture.
He lowers his eyes to the fire, grimacing. He takes another sip.
Rain patters against the windows. The light of the fire feels weak and thin. Rather than illuminating, the light highlights the darkness. The emptiness outside and inside.
A log shifted and sparks leapt up the chimney. The man’s eyes followed a stray spark, floating on the plume of smoke, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it winked out.
He clears his throw and puts the glass on the table. He glances down and sees the ring on the arm of his chair. He grunts and wipes it away. Some splashed on the fireplace rocks steam hissed as the water bubbled away.
He grabbed the poker and adjusted the logs. Sent more sparks up the chimney. After he replaced the poker, he leaned forward, nearly out of the chair, and grabs a log. He shifted and tried to find the best place to move the log. He half tossed and half dropped the log.
He fumed when the log rolled from the perfect position. He wrenched the poker and pushed the log back. It’s a futile battle, the log can’t stay there, but he tried to force it anyway.
He flung the poker back in annoyance and flopped into the back of his chair in one smooth motion.
He held his face as a sob breaks through. After wiping a tear from his cheek, he grabbed the bottle and poured another finger of scotch. His glass was nearly three quarters full of scotch.
He adjust himself in his seat and contemplated the fire. A log popped. He took a long pull from his drink.
A motorcycle roared in the darkness outside. His knuckles whiten on his glass. His eyes darted to the happy couple dancing.
He took a drink, draining much of his glass. He quickly refilled the glass. He slammed the bottle down. He clipped the leg of his glasses. They skittered into the darkness behind the man.
He growled in frustration. He glanced at the picture again.
After taking a sip, he lurches towards the mantel. He grabbed the frame and clumsily worked the back open. He grabbed the picture, crumpled it in his hand. He dropped the frame, shattering the glass. He leaned towards the fire and tossed the picture on.
He sat back. The picture started to uncurl. A picture of a smiling dancing woman stared at him. He lunged for the poker, desperate to fling the picture away from the flames. The picture had already caught. Even out of the direct fire, the fire consumed the picture. Flames slowly moved towards the woman’s face. Until it was gone.
The man slid from the chair. The poker bounced on the wooden floor. He held his head as he sobbed.
The fire crackles. The rain patters. Darkness and shadows dance.