Revised Edition (The Cask of Amontillado)

The thousand injuries of Lincoln Burrows I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity.

Lincoln Burrows was a family man; a man to be respected and feared and more so, a man to be envied. He was the epitome of perfection; he had undeniably a great physique, has a brilliant educational background, he was a renowned figure (he works as the personal adviser of the Vice President's husband Terrence Steadman), he had thousands of friends, he was stable , he had a happy family and the best wife; name it he has it all.

We have been acquaintances since secondary years. But he was not just like a classmate nor a friend to me for he was more like a brother; the brother I never had. Seeing him being praised everyday increases my feeling of jealousy, how can Lincoln have everything and me left alone with nothing? But thoughts like this was never worthy to be entertained, he was my comrade. The best among my friends, the only friend any one would wish to have. But then he become the man I never thought would turn-out to be my greatest rival. The man I would never want to caught sight, but now, I will be seeing him not just see him but meet with him. The thought! But I had to do it, it was my job to do it and so I will be doing it. Smile and keep it cool, that was what I planned.

"Lincoln, here you are. It's been like years."

"My dearest friend, Terrence Steadman, how could years pass without us meeting each other every once in a while."

"Well, are bounded by our personal responsibilities my friend and we could not just leave those essentials behind."

"Indeed!"

"So, wanna go grab some drink? Anything in particular?"

"I would love to, anything would do."

We had a couple of drinks while talking on issues both our clients had. As representatives of two-opposing parties, we were both tasked to handle things smoothly even before consulting our heads. But then again, private thoughts were never inevitable. After doing our work, we started to talk about our personal
matters. How each of our lives has been running since the past years. And by simply listening to every word he says relives my envious feeling towards him. That feeling of disappointment when he was honored as the valedictorian and I was down next to him. That feeling of hatred when he was the one my every-beloved woman chose to give her big "yes" instead to me. How I wish I was in his shoes. Have the work that I have been wishing. Earn the name I have been dreaming. Meet the woman I have been longing. But I was unlucky, I was unfortunate, not like him, he was lucky and he was fortunate. Though I have been gifted by a good job, this is not what i want. Though I may be married, but she was never the woman I intend to live the rest of my life with. It was never fair enough.

Lincoln is my ego ideal; the man I have always wanted to become but nevertheless, the man I will never be becoming.

As time continues to fly, more talks were made so as more drinks were served. Not only that but more insecurities filled me too. I couldn't help but feel so inferior every time he comes to speak of his achievements in life. More hatred, more grudges. Just as I turned back, everything turned black and there was darkness.

Everything seemed hazy to me after that moment. The only thing that was vivid was that I was already inside the car, with Lincoln right next to me and he was motionless. He wasn't moving much as he was not breathing. How could he not breathe? Was he dead? How could he die? Did I kill him?
How could I kill him? Kill the best among my friends? Impossible, but it felt so real. And as I look again in the passengers' seat, there was Lucas; still motionless. I ran out of the car, tensed and troubled. But how come guilt has not stricken me? What does that supposed to mean?

Instead of further contemplating of whether I really did commit a crime, I began to worry how was I supposed to keep him. And so I dug a large hole right down the family's chapel beside the altar and there I kept Lincoln. And there has he been staying for five decades.

It has been more than half of a century yet still the facade of that memory is just as conspicuous as it had been. How his ever-charming face turned pale after half a minute, the low cry at the back of his throat as he finished the last gulped of the drink that lead him a couple of feet down below our chapel's altar.

Lincoln Burrows.

My good friend.

My great competitor.

My ego ideal.

May you rest in peace.