Stained Rug

Clemens lived in Liverpool. He believed that he had been hexed by witches. Somewhere there was a book that contained a secret five letter word. The letters of this word, when recited in litany, would be a countdown. Every sixty times, the last letter in the sequence was replaced with a clap. When no letters remained, he would clap five times and the spell would be lifted. He searched for thirty years, never finding what he was looking for, when suddenly he felt it all throughout his being that he had no idea what he sought. Not in life, in anything. He had created a fictitious riddle that had no answer, and he had reveled in it like he was Bacchus. “Voltaire!” He cried as he threw Anna Karenina into the chandelier. “You have betrayed me!” Crystal shattered. Shards fell. A piece left a cut down Clemens’ cheek, and he covered his face in his hands. Drops of blood ran down his wrists and fell to the carpet.