Awakening slowly, I hear the muffled sound of voices. Discourse and laughter zoom into my ears, becoming louder as I come to. Opening my eyes for the first time, baffled and bewildered, I feel them sting slightly with the harsh kiss of light. I blink against the glare of candlelight, I am confronted by the sight of a grand feast. There are three other people here, they are stuffing their faces, drinking, and laughing, seemingly unaware of my waking, the air is thick with the heady aromas of roasted meats and fine wine. Overwhelmed and adjusting my eyes I focus on these three men, I have no idea where I am or who they are, none of them seem concerned by me, they appear quite mad and totally preoccupied with each other and the bountiful food laid before them.
My hands grasp the arms of my chair, to which I am rooted. The chair and its anesthetic effect comfort me as I try to make sense of this surreal scene. I turn my attention yet again to the people, and it quickly dawns on me that they are, in fact, the most interesting aspect of this confusing scenario. Despite this being a feast, each and every one of them seems as out of place, as I feel.
Seated to my left, a shivering craven of a man engulfed in a self-isolating type of trepidation. His plate vibrates, echoing his trembling limbs. His silverware clatters nervously as he fails to navigate the uncertainty of proceedings. He sips from a goblet spiked with the poison of paranoia, his eyes darting around, madly interpreting threats in every word and gesture. This is a fearful feast indeed, fear is placing a hand on all of our shoulders, but it squeezes somewhat more tightly on this frightened fellow, though no one else seems to care.
Growing more confident, I begin to partake in the food. Everything is cooked to perfection, every flavor as intoxicating as the last. Unable to hold back the tides of gluttony, I gorge my way into an oblivious pleasure. With every bite of delicious food and every sip of the finest wine, the feeling of abandonment seeps into my pores, and I no longer care where this place is.
Jolted by a thunderous voice and banging on the table, my attention is suddenly focused on another guest. To my right sits, a tempest incarnate growling and arguing, unable to sit still his fist tightly clenching his silverware, ill-tempered and scowling, his eyes alight with the fires of rage. His fork jabs at imaginary slights, and his knife plunges into the bleeding heart that adorns his plate. This cantankerous figure revels in the art of discord, turning the banquet into a battleground of grievances. In the midst of laughter and lunacy, The bitter man’s discontent brews a storm, a sour note in the cacophonous symphony of abandon.
Trying not to get his attention, I pour more wine. What I am doing here is not certain; all I can do is participate in the festivities and observe everything with a keen eye. Everything in this place is strangely familiar.
Despite the decrepit decor and mad company, there is a comfort in the general mood of abandon, that is so obviously shared by all.
Seated across from me, the last guest—a lonesome figure slouching at the table, he says nothing to anyone and looks none of us in the eye. The others seem oblivious to his presence, but I recognize him, I see all of his follies draped in silence. His empty plate is a fitting allegory reflecting his own plane of existence, outlining him as a lost cause. Any idea that he may still be served is drowned in the lonely percussion of our narcissistic gaggle. Uninvited and ignored, he is the feast’s lonely man, the unspoken guest at a table where everyone has segregated him by way of indifference, any hope of any acknowledgment he may have is a distant dream. His sighs of boredom harmonize with the anarchic self-congratulators as they call a toast to the abyss. His silent suffering is an untold tale but an inevitable one, as I know all too well.
All of us here are lost, we’re scraping the bottom of the rabbit hole, this is a place for madmen and broken boys but I no longer care. Now, I sedate myself within the madness. Now, I choose the chaos; here I can preside over all of my shortcomings just like they do.
This coming together is a deliberate delineation of the self; and I am the designer. Every guest before me dines with a burden, I dine with all of them, three guests—three burdens.
There are no delicacies here only carrion and we feast with the enthusiasm of greedy kings. I at the head of the table, lord of the feast, am host to a banquet of madness. I am the man who dines on the delicacy of his own demise. When the night is done, who will I become?
As the banquet of madness reaches its zenith, three emotions hit me all at once, Trying to stand up, I want to run away! The fear grips me and holds me in place. My fist clenched the rage builds within me at the speed of light. My heart breaks, for although I have company, I am utterly alone. I sink into my chair with a new appreciation for my being here and raise a toast to the lunatics that sprawl before me. They turn their attention to me and in unison return my toast like clockwork soldiers, they fall silent and look upon me with an expectation that gives way to an epiphany. My vision darkens. The room loses all color, the faces of the guests melt away like a wet painting in the rain, my stomach churns and I catch my reflection in a wine glass, now I see… Now I understand… The epiphany….. I am dining alone.
Varniverus Gwyndledore
GWYNDLEDORE 