In the middle of the night, there was a shuffle in the house of petals.
A figure walks over to the jog of water on the table before gulping it down.
The figure was completely spent and tired but that was the only drive keeping him alive, if not he would've given up in life.
He had nobody, and he's got nothing to loose so everything he's doing he's doing it for the family he lost.
The figure takes a seat on the sofa before checking on the cut on his arm, that was going to string up questions and drag attentions.
If the figure was to wear long sleeves, the hand would be rotten and if it were to expose it...that shouldn't even be an option.
With a sigh the figure heads over to the top shelf that holds all the first aid he's going to need.
After fixing up the wound, the figure sat down with alcohol in one hand and a sleeping pill on the other.
Because of how traumatising his pay was, he had to knock himself out every night in order to sleep.
