The Golden Chalice

It was in the haranguing discrepancies of a particularly incessant anxiety, a fermenting perturbation of the conscious, that I began to fathom the malady. I was not well, and although my condition, conduced sentiments of profound apathy, I sought to extract the tangible rudiments of the defective conundrum, from that abundant portion of redundancy. It was first a mere inquisition, which became, an insatiable vacuum of gyrating circumspect, and wonder soon became disease. I purchased a golden chalice, from a reputable collector, and ensconced it, regally upon a mahogany display where many of my fascinating procurements were thither stored. The pecuniary expense of my passion left me with scanty funds, for further installation and so, i abnegated myself from the defective practice. Still I was proud of this one particular treasure, the golden chalice, gleaming with immutable chatoyance, as if in its interior it bore the spirit of an Arabian Genie. I promised myself to never subject it, to any perfunctory leisure of function until there was any reason, to pardon the indelible deviance, but I was naive, for at length, I would imbibe from its cold virgin orifice, a bashful slosh of fine wine, during my mirthless vigil. I finally reposed myself, on a couch, feeling rather confounded, by the experience. The caliginous lull of somnolence, made me weary, but I awoke upon the epiphany, that I had not returned the chalice to its altitude. I paced myself to my table, and in the hollow gape of the emicant chalice, I perceived a glomerating orgy of maggots. I recoiled with a wry but my hand knocked off, the object from its station, so that it would disgorge, in its decumbence all the orphans of putridity, upon the floorboards. They moved in an eerie uniform manner, to a portion under my full display. I was not remiss of any due circumspect but rather, full of crippling anxiety, and it was certainly not cowardly to repudiate any further investigation. I wish I could slumber, but my dysphoria became a merciless illness, fueled by morbid preoccupation. I could no longer repress, my insufferable urges, I wanted to know! Walking over the the untouched chalice, my volition was to move the large display, but it splintered asunder to my touch and behind it, was the unputrid corpse of my father, nailed to the wall.