Jacob and the expected guest PART1

"Mr. Clawford, you have guest."
"Who is it?"
"They addressed themselves as your special guess, sir."
From Clawford's sickly state, he rose quickly from the bed and to his feet. His weak knees crumbled, throwing himself -unwillingly- to the floor. The butler frighten by the sight of his employer scrambled to him on the floor.
"Sir, you cant-,"
"Forget about me! BRING THEM IN NOW!" Clawford yelled from his degrading state and the butler cowards through the door.
Jacob D Clawford- what had become of him. Once a brilliant gallant young strapping man- now only "a shell of his former self". A line that's constantly repeated over and over again. Jacob didn't feel that way that everyone felt when close to death. "A shell of his former self"? Nonsense - preposterous even. At this moment, though his body says otherwise, he felt that he could sprint faster then his younger former self, and, if a mirror were present, perhaps he was more brilliant too. However, 'perhaps' is an existence questioning existence. In truth, Mr. Clawford's weak knees couldn't muster the strength to carry the image of himself that envisioned.
Laid back against the bedsheet's skirt, he looked at the angles that carried armor and knives to fight the barely clothed demons strolling the land of the living. The portrait spiraled a tornado of torment-filled war and in the center -death ,clothed in a beautiful red gown, carried a lantern luminating gold. The elaborate ceiling- how much time wasted painting it, how much money wasted paying for it, how much time wasted to earn money to pay for it? The endless cycle of a Madonna effect enchanting the poor and rich alike, consuming them.
Clawford sighed in exhaustion of his nonsensical thinking. All the anxiety and fear Clawford had extinguished by the thought of desperation plauging these last moments. What has been done has been done.
"Jacob, I could never imagine I would see such a high standing man as yourself on your knees before I walk into the room." A voice abruptly spoke.
"I know fair well that you seen more men then me crumble voluntarily before you, Guide."Clawford sighed.
"Still so lively I see." The guide joked.
"What? Did you get tired of seeing saggy bags of skin crying ,Guide?"Clawford rose with the assistance of his butler and sat on a worn chair near a window.
"A little bit of change never hurt." The Guide says following Clawford and his butler.
With every step the Guide took the footsteps were replaced by the most pleasant sounding of bells. Like all Guides, they wore the skull of an animal, this one in particular wore that of a water deer with horns of a buck. This skull was draped with blue beads and small charms with silver bells attached. The guide was cladded in a black attire with beautiful gold and silver embroideries of trees and deer. The traditional attire of Guides were very similar to that of death ;however, red was forbidden, to only be worn by death. They resembled death as they should, and light all the same.
"I'm thankful that you Guides visit us dead. Imagine us bags of skins crawling to you on that impassible hill of yours. Hilarious." Clawford brushed his butler away , looking outside towards the falling leaves of the trees.
"Would it?"
"Yes, very. Maybe not to the bags but surly to the fresh spring buds."
"Very poetic Jacob."
"No,I am not. Death is the very essence of poetry, I can only bask in the shadows." Clawford glanced at the ceiling's golden edges.
"Death is very pretty isn't it?" Clawford continued.
"Death is very pretty as so is life. They are two sides of the same coin." The guide replied.
"Is that so." Clawford says now facing the Guide. There was a minute of calm silence before Clawford offered his hand to the Guide. "I think it's about time we go Guide."
"Of course Jacob." The Guide replied grasping Clawford's hand.