Bedlamite

Chapter 1

It was a warm, summers night, mosquitoes buzzed around a man's shaggy, black hair.
"Rack off you bloody pests!" The man yelled in a croaky voice.
His voice sounded as if he hadn't had a drink in days, which he hadn't.
The man stood up, stretching his lean bones. He looked into the mirror. A face which consisted of yellow, crooked teeth, and ghastly scars glanced back at him.
He ran his forefinger over his scars, they looked like a whip had gashed his face.
He pulled his sleeve down to his palm and proceeded to wipe the remaining dirt from the glass.
"What have you done to yourself?" He said calmly.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" He screamed, feeling the skin in his throat crack slightly with every syllable that exited his mouth.

He threw his fist at the mirror, blood trickling down his clenched fist. The sound of shards of glass hitting the ground echoed in the lonely room.
"If Gloria saw me how I am now, she'd disown me. But what does it matter? She's dead now." Disgust filled his voice.
Slowly, and painfully, the man plucked small shards of glass out of his hand.

Somberly he walked into the bleak, tasteless room he called his bedroom.
He flung himself onto his bed, a wooden board, held up by a few bricks. A moth eaten blanket was strewn across it.
He closed his eyes, and slowly feel into an uneasy sleep.