Ennui

I was in my chair, with my feet up on the radiator, feeling too lazy to prepare for the week ahead, to get rid of my weekend stubble and go through my notes for the week. The listlessness of life was bothering me - pleasant days, work, then home, and then, work. He was in his chair, by his laptop. Strains of the violin playing wafted to my ears. He would never notice if it were to become too loud. It was strange. I had known him for so long, and, yet, seldom could I even guess what he would do, or say, or think. In many ways, he was a kid, and in many, he was not. He would throw his tantrums, tantrums that would make a little girl's yell for a doll seem like a well thought out argument...

And, then, he started. He was out of his reverie, and was mid-way describing an incident to me. He was telling me about trying to break into someone's room.

"We hadn't seen Adam for days! He wasn't the reclusive sort. He would usually be downstairs every other evening for a friendly chat, a tough game of pool or a silent beer, his brown eyes looking at nothing. But, we hadn't seen his tall lanky frame for a long time. Bohemian that I was, even I missed him. She knew him well. She was worried.

A week flew by. We were worried too.

So, there we were, on a dark Sunday morning, throwing ourselves at his door. She stood by nervously, praying for the best, hope fighting against prescience, fearing nothing but a simple explanation.

Finally, our collective strengths prevailed against the flimsy plywood.

He lay there, a dark spot on the carpet, face withered, his eyes on his hands, his fingers curled around the handle of his razor."

...

He shut the door behind him. The lock clicked back.
...

I decided to get rid of my stubble.