Depending How Dark The Skies

I'm beginning this, not knowing where it is going...

His expansively remedial life had been packed up into boxes that were too small to contain his messy details. Everything was gone, sitting somewhere in a cold warehouse waiting for him to collect them. He sat, wondering if he ever would. 
The room was empty, save for a cluster of pillows and a tatty duvet, covered in down. He stood examining the sheer emptiness of the room. It was smaller than he remembered it being when he first moved in, seven years before.
The world had swallowed him the past few years, nothing seemed to glow like it once had, the passion for life had been sucked clean out. There were still the ups and downs, but even they seemed to lack the energy and vigor of his past.
Just lately nothing seemed right, and the loss of his own space was the final straw, everything had been turned upside down. He didn't want anything to do with anything, he didn't want possessions, he didn't want his memories, he didn't want these people or places around him.

"Ready?" a voice said from the threshold of the small black and green room.

"Nearly" He said, the word stumbled slightly past taut vocal chords.

"We'll be in the van." the voice said.

 Something sharp seemed to twist in his throat, he couldn't dislodge it with a quick swallow. His throat closed in and a tear crept from him.

This would be an awfully big adventure. 


The End

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