The Silver Chalice

I remember the day I got the silver chalice,

It was my eighteenth birthday.

It was beautiful and small,

Ornately carved and intricately detailed.

The mysterious aura charmed me every time I looked at it.

It had always been on the mantelpiece, patient, unmoving.

It was an autumn evening, an evening if speculation.

There was tranquility all around,

In the slight breeze through the trees,

In the first stars of the night.

The chalice dropped,

The telephone rang.

"Yes Daddy?" ,there was something wrong.

My father muffled a sob and said,

"Your sister is dead"...

I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes focused on the chalice.

I recalled my grandfather's death, the first time ever that the chalice had fell.

The pieces fell in to place.

The silver chalice was haunted.

It was cursed.