Keith's Ramblings

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It’s a distant memory but still I see him lounging in his sumptuous armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, a ring of smoke rising from his Cuban cigar.

William Stanley Billiscombe, Bill but to a select few, was Lord of the Manor. Forever a batchelor, he lived his life alone. 

Famed for his tweed jackets, leather riding breeches and silky silver hair, he was oft to be seen sauntering along the street astride his trusty mare, politely gesturing to folk as he passed them by.

He was a esoteric soul, there were limits to how much we knew of his closeted lifestyle. Maybe I knew a little more than most as I was employed by his preferred supplier of food stuffs and each week, collected his list then delivered to him the items he wished to purchase. 

The last time I saw him was somewhat different. He’d not answered the door when I rang the bell.  I let myself into the Manor using a key, the whereabouts of which few were privy to. 

Yes, he was in his chair, but his cigar was stubbed out in an ashtray, his whisky glass lay on its side, its contents spilled. He was gone.

Often, I look into the sky and see a circle of cloud. That’s when I think of  him again, with a ring of smoke rising into the air.

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Thanks to Brenda for hosting The Sunday Whirl where this weeks given words are – limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit and key. There was only one I couldn’t fit into my story!