He raised the glass before his dark, brown eyes. The rich touch of its glass carvings made the images transpired and passed fast. The sunset’s gleams embraced the glass, giving it a beautiful view. He was sitting on a velvet couch, still wearing his tuxedo. He was accompanied by his bottle of whiskey.
He grabbed the bottle and fill the empty glass. He gulped it in one shot and the burn stung against his throat, but he was not deterred with its power. He cherished the hot fluids of it.
“I will send to you the balance once I see the proof. I want the images of his body and his grave. Make sure he will not live.” An envelope stacked with cash was passed.
He momentarily closed his eyes. He could not lose this year; he could not let the votes of the people be for him. He only had one set in his mind and he had done it successfully.
He raised the glass once again and he smirked. It was mocking him, inside and out, and it was holding itself high and proud, untainted and innocent unlike him.