Prologue:
Mike awoke, the faded light laced with dust feeding through his curtains, he was asleep on his wooden bed, no mattress, he'd torn up and destroyed too many of them in pointless fits, pointless, what an appropriate word.
Mike looked at the dark, thick curtains, the gap he'd left in them, he blinked his eyes open, forced them apart.
His head was buzzing, sleeplessness took its toll, he looked beside his head, a piece of shattered glass, something from a mirror.
Mike looked above his bed frame, a shattered mirror; he remembered that, looking at it amplified his headaches tenfold.
He moved his hands up to his eyes, wiped them then he saw the red, thick lines on his wrists, long sleeves were the thoughts that entered his mind.
He looked to the other side to find a shirt lying loosely on a maroon bean bag, he felt cold and saw the cold sweat he was drenched in.
The room was fairly large, wooden walls, deceiving wooden walls, lean on the wrong panel and it might open into another room, the ceiling one massive light, a big bed in the center, no mattress, a window on the right wall, thick glass with a thick black curtain, a massive TV on the wall facing the bed, a little depression into the wall below the TV, a glass tray present, many pictures facing downwards.
The floor was messy, clothes and bottles and plates of food, upturned books and pieces of glass, knives and empty jars of peanut butter, ants buzzing in and out.
Mike pulled the shirt from the bean bag, wiped himself off with it before climbing off the bed.
He walked over to a spot by the window and pushed against the wood, it opened into a large bathroom, divided by a frosted glass plated between the hand washing counter and its remainder. There was an edge to edge mirror placed on the wall above the basin, a rich marble counter that screamed wealth.
Mike looked into the mirror, the only one he hadn't smashed yet, the reflection smiled and said, almost in a whisper, "Tonights the night" and it grinned this devilish grin, the disheveled man seemed to be gone in this image, someone else seemed to have taken his place but it was the same face that stared.
Mike curled his hand into a fist, he clenched it so tight it went white then punched the mirror with all he had, the mirror shattered, his hand red and bloody.
Mike opened up a cabinet below the counter and patched his hand up and opened up the glass divider into the shower and turned it on and sat in a corner of the space, the water, steaming hot and flowing over him, him still clothed, sitting there, it was The night.
The water washed over him and around him, the heat just barely keeping him from feeling like he was hollow. Just barely.
The water tinted a slight red flowed, the man seemed to be flowing as well.
YOU ARE READING
Storms End
General FictionA man faces a terrible decision, his mind weighed down by an ultimatum he laid down for himself, his soul feeling from his past tragedies, its up to his friends whos he's made his unwitting accomplices to make or break him, to look into the abyss an...
