A familiar madness stirred within. He tried to suffocate it using his starving eyes to search the room for distraction, for solace. The space had drastically expanded it’s aura of empty material weight. Out cycled a heavy sigh and he went back to crumpling up the sheets where the ink left unpleasant splotches. The kinds of decisions that were about to be made intimidated him perhaps more than death itself. Even wasting paper had given him an unfamiliar guilt because of the outrageous costs nowadays, though he could afford thousands of sheets more. The will listed out the names Catherine, Timothy, and David Michael Langsch, the siblings, each hardly close friends. The times spent together involved weaving in and out of his life only to reap benefits from the company, to attend family business meetings and loans for tuition. The age gap between his brothers and sister was large enough to where he couldn’t recall any “good old days”.

Whenever there was a holiday dinner, it was done only by means of tradition. Since Jane, being the one who would arrange them and urged the tattered conversations forward, had passed, his ties to these people had quietly worn away. The kind of interaction they offered since the news felt similar to the way vultures circle a dying wart hog. Their thoughts dwell only in the gains and what they’ll receive in exchange for a loss long overdue. At least vultures are polite enough to wait until the victim is dead before tearing them up. 

 After a series of hoarse coughs, he rustled back the remaining strands of his white hair and began to go over the plan. 

First he listed out Catherine’s requests for her portion. Reluctantly he had given her loans in the past and she had mostly spent them on travelling abroad, searching to add to her collection of the latest garments and exotic feathers for enormous hats. She admits it’s her ultimate weakness when she can’t settle for just one item or that she needs to find a particular pattern for a certain season, but carries on, burning through the company’s pocket change.

She too no longer had a spouse. In her case, she had left him claiming she sought to fend for herself for a while. He was no longer hesitant in saying it was her addiction and arrogance that had left her begging for help at times on his own accounts. This wasn’t at all a personal endeavor, the sympathy unfortunately was the product of a promise to their mother and otherwise wouldn’t have been shown.

A few weeks ago when she brought up casket prices, he shuddered,“ I don’t want my corpse to be laid to rest in a waste of elegant wood buried under some God forsaken rock!” He had initially requested for a tree or garden to be planted instead yet the rest chuckled at the mere thought. 

The lavish kitchenware and furniture are among the items Catherine would soon rush to claim. It wasn’t anything more than molded metal and wood he exclaimed while rubbing his forehead unable to grasp the fixation on such nonsensical needs of modern man or rather woman. 

While skimming through the documents he checked that it clearly stated; he would have the metal appliances including pots, pans, and most importantly the silver, taken to a shop to be turned to their original forms. The metallic batter should be left to a friend of his who by strictly following the blueprint and some artistic instinct, would weld the piece together. It described steps to construct a metal skeleton of a tree that stood as an upright botanical garden of sorts. 

Then he remembered Georgia. He didn’t wish to keep her shackled as a maid any longer by leaving the plants behind to take care of. For that reason, he had to make some last minute adjustments. The furniture could be of use in this case he thought to himself. He had already taken account of them to use for something else but instead called for a carpenter to chop up and smooth out the wood to fill in the crevices of the metal bark. It would give the whole piece something closer to a natural look.

He craned his neck about to release the aches and again gathered himself to move on.

On to the youngest, Timothy. Weren’t his tuition fees enough to consider? He would’ve probably gone after the library if he and his love for knowledge hadn’t severed so far apart. He had appreciated that academic drive in the beginning when the loans were strictly reserved for his education, but Tim had slipped into a wildly unstable gambling craze two years into university. The constant dishonesty had him stretching the furthest lengths of his patience. Tim had tried gaining a degree of control while he began to fall behind in school, but he hasn’t yet shown any signs of pulling through. Just when he thought Tim had almost completely drifted away, the news had sent him sprinting back. Despite that being what they all did, it stung him the most because Tim was the one who might have had a chance against this corruptive path, consuming everyone else around him. 

With that in mind, he scribbled out Heal, putting Timothy Langsch down for inheriting the library. In the description he continued a list of his favorites, classics, and various authors to look into. To make sure the books wouldn’t be sold off and that they were to be read, he created a track record for the bank to keep. A sum of money was to be given to Tim if he had managed to finish every last book and all the recommendations, each with an opinion piece. He approximated this task would take even a fairly quick reader about 5 years or so. He hoped at a certain point Tim would give in and make amends with his first true love. Timothy needs not any encouragement to carry on his ways from simply handing the portion over. Not anymore.

Since the fire would leave an awful large mess, he had saved the last blow for David Michael. He didn’t have the slightest concern for anything other than the company. Their usual arguments had died down lately for the obvious circumstances but the probing would start soon and he had to find some way to include his “would be share”.

He had mentioned being interested in the estate and suggested that they turn it into a brilliantly lucrative getaway. He chuckled to himself at how easily those plans were to be foiled but also slightly disappointed he wouldn’t live long enough to experience each of their reactions. He turned his attention toward the last document which read; “The Langsch estate is to be burnt down with remaining finances of Kurtis Langsch. In its place, a custom-made memorial is to be constructed after his passing.” 

The old man took a breath and lifted his head to where the rays of sunlight that seemed to glide into the evening, could hold his wrinkled cheeks. The designs were all drawn out, completed during a harmonic convergence of creative energy that flowed in as soon as he heard the end was approaching, when at last he let himself follow it.