Poisoned Cask
It is with a panicked and pounding heart that I write this message. My hands tremble and I can barely hold the lump of charcoal that I have managed to procure. Yet while I still exist upon this earth I shall tell my story, in hopes that there will be a vengeance, or at least an understanding of my predicament. I am known as Fortunato, and so far in life I have been a respected and admired man, or at least, I thought I was. Due to the lack of suitable paper I will skip my background and will proceed to explain my unusual situation as best I can. I am partly to blame for the circumstances that have brought me here, to this dank tomb with its cold, mineral walls and its stench of death. Yet I am not the mastermind of this dastardly crime, no indeed, it was my so-called friend Montresor who has ensnared me and so written my doom. Curse and blast that snake of a man who has me captured and wriggling his fist! O but such a clever, clean mind, for he had me playing into his grasp like the foolish jester that I am. With his bait of amontillado he had me walking straight into his gaping maw, I followed blindly, even when a small sense of dread burbled in my chest as we walked through these catacombs. And so he walled me up here, creating an effective tomb. It makes my skin bubble and my blood freeze when I think of my certain death in this silent closet.
Yet the reasons for my fate are unclear. For I have done no wrong to Montresor, indeed, any pain I inflicted upon him was unintentional on my part. It brings me a different sort of hurt to realize that my death is a meaningless one. I am well known and liked, and I would like to think that I have lived a good life. Yet this pointless ending irks my soul and my pride. The great Fortunato, reduced to a pile of musty bones buried in a pauper's grave without so much as blessing from a priest. Montresor, you have robbed me not only of my life, but of my dignity as well.
Disclaimer: "Cask of Amontillado" and its characters belong to Edgar Allen Poe, not I.