The Sleepless Wonder

Dying embers cast their glow upon the Victorian carpet, dancing lightly among the healthy arrangement of color and shape. The crackling of the fire is like sweet music in his ears, emptying the endless expanses of his mind. He examines, scrutinizes the subtle shadows of the empty velvet chair situated across from him. It remains cold and vacant.

A letter burns fiercely as the ashes climb the long chimney lined blood stained brick. He picks up the gun nestled among the alcohol and books scattered around him. He puts the cold, hard steel against his temple. The hammer comes down hard. He looks absently at the box of bullets still left unopened upon the dark oak table next to him. He sets the gun down again, and turns his attention back to the fire.