He felt devastated. This couldn't have happened. He couldn't have lost his soul mate-his best friend-someone who had been with him since he was 15.
Those stupid doctors, he thought. Bastards. Couldn't they have done something?? Wasn't there any other way out?? How dare they leave him alone and isolated in this world??
The pain in his abdomen is more severe now. He needs a glass of water. He goes to his personal bar in the drawing room and takes out a bottle from the freezer. It was in this bar that he and his dear friend had spent all their evenings. They had shared their lives-their joys, sorrows, eccentricities; all here.
But the bar is empty today. His only friend and companion-the monk-the Old Monk Rum is gone. The doctors have taken him away and have 'barred' him from having even a drop of alcohol. His liver has become the size of a football.
The doctors don't think that he has got more than six months left in him now. This fact makes him feel suicidal.
He kneels down to pray-something he hasn't done for as long as he can remember. It's time now to be friends with God.
"Something sinister in the tone
Told my secret must be known;
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God."
-Robert Frost
