As he sat in his chair, staring out one of the flat's large windows onto the lonely street, his landlady brought him his daily cup of tea, as she had been doing for the past half year. He took it from her hand without a thought, still focused on the window. It was raining outside, yet again. Or was it? Every day it had seemed to him that it was raining, and he never knew whether it was indeed bad weather or just an image his mind had been drawing up.
He could, though, tell that the man walking along the pavement, mindless of the rain, was not real. The man, whom he missed, whom he needed, was just a trick of his imagination. Nothing but his brain wishing to drive the knife deeper into his heart. Yet he could not help but watch as the man paced back and forth, his coat fluttering about his legs, his scarf wound about his throat, his mouth moving quickly as he chattered on about some amazing facts about one type of tobacco.
He ran his thumb over the painted designs of the teacup in his hand, never taking his eyes off of the road. The landlady had stopped trying to draw him away from this. No one had been able to recall him to life since this had started those six months ago.
He always saw the man now. Wherever he turned, he could not escape him. In his room when he would lie in bed but not sleep, in his bathroom when he would wash his face in the morning, in the hallway when he would stumble to his chair. Always there, always silent.
That's why, on that day, he thought it strange when he heard a soft call of his own name from the doorway. When he turned his head, slowly, and stared, the man said it again.
With a sigh and a furrow of his eyebrow, he sat up, cursed his leg under his breath, and walked towards the man. The man smiled weakly, saying his name once more, stronger now, and about to take a step towards him until he realized that the other was in fact heading towards a drawer. The man gave a confused murmur, unable to see from his angle what the other was pulling out.
His landlady ran into the room when she heard the noise, and her teacup shattered to the ground as she found the supposedly dead man on the floor, staring only at him, and at the blood pouring from the hole in his head.