Byron lay positioned on his back gazing at the heavens from his rooftop for some time.
No one could accuse him of laziness ,he thought
With a beer in the left ,a cigarette In the right,it was safe to say his hands were quite occupied.
He sighed softly.
W
here had it all gone wrong?
What happened?
Finding no response to his morbid contemplation's ,except a sly whistle as the night breeze cools the air,he resolves to turn his attention at the objects in his hands.
Smoke danced into the cool air ,the cigarette glowing like a coal stove in the everlooming darkness.
To tell the Truth Byron didn't even really like smoking,not the taste of it atleast.
He found it revolting really, the tobacco making his stomach turn often.
He enjoyed the effects dancing around in his already intoxicated mind.
The cigarette adding a relaxed ,detached effect.
He raised his right hand and took a drag of the cancer stick absently.
It had become routine really.
Ever since she left he seemed t
o have forgotten what life was about.
A feeling hard to explain except in the darkest archives of every suicidal song ever wrote.
He couldn't picture a world without her in it.
A life without hers sounded about as familiar to Byron as Japanese to polar bears.
shit ain't fair,he thought ,ain't fair ..
His eyes dropped slightly ,sleep threatening to take him there and then.
Blinking rapidly he chose to take this as a sign that he should probably get back inside.
He rose to his knees unsteadily,still bent low enough to hold on to the floor for support.
Deciding to trust his legs ,Byron brought himself to his full height drunkenly.
Having forgotten about the beer in his left hand he let it out of his grip bringing it to a splintery end on the Paris rooftop.
Byron glanced down at it wobbling slightly.
Oh shit, he thought ,at least he still had all his toes.
A drunken smile crept across his face at the thought.
Imagine not having toes.
Realizing he was actually feeling cold ,he chose to reserve the thought for later.
He started for the attic room window ,attempting to remain stable on his feet.
A irritate buzz began from ,what felt like, all around.
By the time he figured out the buzzing was coming from the phone in his jacket pocket ,he had thoroughly spun around in a circle twice making him feel like a dog chasing his rear.
Fishing the phone out of his pocket he flipped up its tiny screen.
The screen lit up and Byron found two ominous words glaring back at him.
PRIVATE NUMBER.
Not choosing to over think the situation he simply pressed the receive button ,raised the device to his ear and said,
" Hello?"
Silence.
"Hellloo?",he repeated.
More silence.
Just as Byron lost hope ,he heard her voice.
It came soft as a feather but had the effect of a full blown hurricane.
Instantly sobering his insides and starting them on what felt like a storm of afflictions This power came in the form of one word.
One word that spoke too many sad tales for Byron to bear.
" Hello",she said.
He knew that voice anywhere ,even if he was deaf and blind he'd know it.
"Ocean?",he asked nervously.
"Byron?",came his reply.
