The Silver Chalice

Randalf sat in what he called his home. He was an elderly man, he wasn’t wise beyond his years necessarily, but one could say he was exactly as wise as the number of years he had lived through. Pretty much like the majority of people in the world really.

Sitting on the paper mat on the floor, Randalf held tightly to his silver chalice, slightly raised, as he dispensed an appropriate level of life knowledge and wisdom to his protégé, the self-proclaimed hero; Fredo.

“Now this here-” holding up the chalice “-is what will help…(cough)…save the world…young Fredo” his voice cracking slightly from the heavy phlegm-filled cough.

Fredo stared longingly at the silvered chalice held above his head.

“May I hold it?”, a moment passed and Fredo thought it prudent to add; “Oh great and wise Randalf.”

Randalf snatched the chalice back to his chest, his long, wispy white beard covering it a little. He slowly moved it into his grubby grey cloak for further protection.

“No, it isn’t meant for mere boys.”

“But…how will I go to save the world if I cannot take hold of it, even once?” Fredo said incredulously.

Randalf stared back at him with a seething intensity.

“Well, you’re just going to have to find your own cup then. This one’s mine!”

“But! …the world?!” Fredo now angry, stretching out his filthy hand, demanding the chalice from Randalf.

“World can go fuck itself, ain’t never done anything for me and mine!” The ‘th’ whistling through Randalf’s missing teeth.

“Damn you old man!” And with that Fredo lunged forward, his tattered and weather-worn clothes flapping about him as he leapt.

Both of them rolled over, fighting and struggling across the floor. The sound of bone and meat slapping the stonework, echoing through the air.

Eventually, Fredo managed to get a decent grip on the chalice inside Randalf’s soiled cloak.

“Give me the damn cup, you old fart!”

“NO!” Randalf screamed, holding it as tightly as he could, scrunching up his creased face, trying to exert more strength than he actually had.

Fredo, chalice held, planted a dirty barefoot on Randalf’s chest and shoved, as hard as he could.

The strain from the force exerted by Fredo unhinged Randalf’s fingers from the chalice and sent him flying and tumbling backwards, slamming into the stonework a good few body lengths away.

Fredo, standing triumphant, a murky grin spreading on his blotchy, unclean face.

“Finally! Off to save the world!” Fredo exclaimed, holding the chalice up high.

Looking back to where Randalf had flown, he could see him slowly sitting up again.

“You’re a bastard, you know that.” Looking at his surroundings, Randalf continued; “Took me weeks to find a nice sturdy cardboard box and a clean tin cup, you fuck…” Tears now welling up around Randalf’s eyes.

“But no…, Fredo, bloody fucking hero, has to have his own fucking cup to go to “save the world”, today of all days!” Randalf visibly making the quote signs in the air around him, sobbing weakly.

“Yeah, well, you never want to share, that’s your problem Randalf. All talk and wisdom with you.” Fredo shaking the chalice at the sad old man on the crumpled box.