The light filtered in through the blinds, passed carefully through dust, and finally came to rest on the carpet. It illuminated there a stain, one which had been so woefully ignored after a night’s heavy drinking, a stain which had been made during one of the happiest times in his life. The stain was two years old.

The light was not as bright as remembered, those years ago, but nonetheless it fought to penetrate the cluttered room. Shining there through glass bottles of green and brown, through bottles that didn’t provide comfort like they used to. His life would have been better without them, but the light knew none of this.

The light was the only witness, as the upturned alarm clock’s cry told him he was late again for work and the mail formed a pile at the door. His body, it would be found right where he had left it, three days later, by a well-meaning neighbor and her dog.