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Bottle of Whiskey

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    Soft golden light poured in through the window. It reflected a soft blue-ray upon the walls as it passed through the curtains: Curtains, that fluttered softly in front of the window. The ticking of the clock, the whirring of the fan, and the sound of a cat's soft snores. All of it gave off a peaceful feel. Ango was more than happy to let the mattress of the bed envelop him, let the cover smother him. Half-lidded eyes stared, unseeing, at the half-empty whiskey bottle that sat beside a picture frame. Instead in his head danced memories of the two in the frame that sat beside himself. When it became too much he sat up - memories slipping away as he replaced them with thoughts of work. It wasn't as if he could recover what he'd lost. All that was left was him.