There were days when Julian could feel his life buckling under the weight of Nothing and hear things snapping and straining in the dead silence.
Today was one of those days.
He reached for the bottle and the cigarette pack. Every time he flicked his lighter or watched light gleam on a sea of whiskey, he hoped it would be the last.
He had no intention of quitting.
He walked through the debris-strewn apartment, stale with tobacco and old sweat, and opened the curtain.
A songbird perched on the windowsill and made the single most perfect sound he’d ever heard.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Yvette Prior for providing the prompt photo!