Faces, Pages and Places

The room sits brooding in the darkness that’s inside it. Violet shafts stretched from halogen an indiscernible distance away, fell from the door like paper blades onto the staircase and trailed off mid-step. In the corner, a fireplace. The flames that licked at the blackness of air left nothing but a lingering scent of pine and regret. Slumped across the couch in front, he flips open his gold pocket watch, an heirloom from his father, a reminder of the present future, pauses, sighs and snaps it shut. Open, shut. Not in time with the ticking. Open, shut. To the throbbing at his temple and to his chest that is beating. Open. Silence. Shut.