The Cask Of Amontillado // Forunato’s point of view Kyra 9/19/16


The light from the torch on the floor is fading fast. I silently will for it to stay with me, to light up the desolate place I now find myself in. It absconds in a millisecond, leaving me in total darkness. I sigh, leaning my head back against the wall.

Montresor calls my name. I can hear him, yet I do respond. His voice sounds fuzzy, and far away. I'm not even sure that I am conscious. For all I know, I am hallucinating. And, I don't see how responding will help me in anyway unless he was coming back for me. He has made it perfectly clear that he intends to let me meet my nearing immolation. I know that there is no way that I will make it out of here alive. Yet, for reasons even I do not understand, I cling to hope, however distant it may be.

He calls my name again. He sounds almost panicked. I long to let out a groan, some notion that I am still here, that his plan is failing. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I lack the strength to speak; my tongue is numb. I hear him as he ambles away, and his footsteps subside within minutes.

I slide down the slimy, cold wall, lying my head on the cool ground. The horrible stench of rotting flesh fills my nostrils. Montresor has come up with the perfect crime. There will be no evidence to incriminate him, therefore creating impunity. He will get away with murder; my murder. I involuntarily shudder. I notice that the cold and darkness and the fact that I am utterly alone are starting to get to me.

I close my eyes. The stench isn't so bad any more. And I'm tired, very tired. If I just sleep for a few moments, I'll be prepared to think of a way out when I wake up. I feel myself drifting, and now nothing. I'm fast asleep.