The moon stared down at Lazarus as he leant far enough forwards to be in danger of falling out of the window, all four storeys, to the hard and unforgiving concrete below. Maybe he didn’t mind. Maybe it would be best... he thought of the emptiness in his life, how he eschewed all relationships of all kinds. He couldn’t afford to have friends; he couldn’t have a romantic interest. He had no family. With only a connection to the council for the flat, almost no one knew he was around. His love of quiet classical music was not heard by neighbours, and he rarely left the flat. Only for three nights a month did he leave for longer than a couple of hours at a time. Recluse by nature, Lazarus hid himself from the world. No one should know him. No one deserved that fate.
He was trapped, like the moth.
He left the window again, picking up a remote and waving it in the general direction of the stereo as he pushed the ‘play’ button. Piano music drifted around the room as he fixed himself a drink of vodka and coke in the kitchen. He had to rid himself of the fleeting suicidal thoughts. It was pointless. He wasn’t even sure if a four storey fall would even kill him.
Not much could.