Sunsets were the worst.
Always mocking in some sort of manner.
It didn't matter if it were whispy pastel colored clouds scattered over a faint memory of the clear blue daytime sky, reflecting colors that only the sun and sky could form together in an effortless partnership.
The ominous violet clouds that striped across the expanse ,only letting the dying sun peek out at certain moments. Hiding the sky away in contempt for the earth, stealing.
The strange twilight skies that still shone cerulean with thick orange clumps that slightly resembled the bovine business men that busied their way about the city, thinking that they must be so important to the development of whatever bland company that had on their briefcase.
The classical orange and red that melded so seamlessly, the circular sun - that orbited the earth- dipping slightly under the buildings of London, clouds out of the question.
Ah, but what he hated the most was the crimson. Vibrant and casting over all of the city, laughing and pushing into untouched business and although they were rare, they hurt the most. Dug the deepest into wounds long since unhealed in mind but sealed in body.
Oh how the thoughts itched and scratched, trying to pull themselves out of the hazy mist in the back of a brilliant mind they almost never prevailed, locked away in a room labeled simply 'finished'.
Almost.
The ring gunfire and the sting of crisp winter breath that escaped danced and taunted around and around never ceasing unless properly addressed , but that's all they did.
That's all they did.
That's all he did.