Raising his head, he could see the dark sky. The rain was pouring on his face and the lightings shocked his eyes, so he closed them. He was surrounded by black in a moment, but he couldn't open his eye lids.

Breathing, breathing, still not able to open those damn eyes. The blackness filled him in any corner, no shades or other colors. He raised his hands and tried to touch his face, but there was nothing in the place his face should be. Like touching in air.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he jumped from his bed. His first reaction was to get out of his room and reach the closest handle. But no one was in the room, white neat sheets on the bed without a pillow.

No one here.

He stepped out of the room, and searched to the next handle, the next room. Not only that there was no one in the next room, there wasn't any handle or any room.

It took him a few minutes to remember, and he went downstairs, to the kitchen, to pour himself a cup of water.

Out of the window kitchen, there was a neon sign, half of the letters didn't flash, and the street was deserted. That's why he had chosen this neighborhood. It was so empty, like his brain now.

He wasn't sure if he is broken or empty, he didn't know which was worse, but he could guess that both. At least he had past them in some point. When he was broken, he cared, when he was empty, he cried. No it's nothing, and nothing at all, just a ray of light in the middle of the abyss, a feeling words can't describe.

He was all tore apart and his life was crumbling from his mistakes and weak foundations, things he had never thought about, so carelessly, so damn carelessly he has done.

He just closed his eyes again, breathing deep and scared, opening his eyes to see the shattered glass and blood dripping from his hand.

And he wondered, where else can he mistake.