Sun was filtering through the blinds, lines of brilliance slatting across the dark rug. He stared at it, pausing long enough to light his smoke. A lazy exhale brought a perfect circle into being, floating before him a moment or two before dissipating. It was rather like his life, he thought, scratching his arm absently. It all faded away in the end, all the good and the bad, leaving only a hazy sameness to each day. Even revenge felt indifferent.

It hadn't always been that way. Once, he could feel things. Strongly. Now, it was like being thread, stretched and thin, shiny but limp without purpose. Now, he was a man without hope or direction beyond the moment.