The evening dragged on like the burning of a candlewick. My mind drew a blank page as I tried to remember what I was doing. The house felt bigger that night. I longed for him to come home complaining about the smallest things that  I took for granted whilst I poured brandy into his glass and lit the fire to heat his cold hands from the blasting winter. Flick- light of the dying bulb illuminated the drawing room projecting shadows of inanimate objects onto the walls of peeling paper. An uncanny sensation churned at my gut. Trundling down the narrow corridors, I reached the kitchen, catching the eye of a half empty rouge drowning in its own sorrows. I took a sip, admiring the gleaming cabinet holding his armory, clenching to the wall. I pulled out good ol’ smith and Wesson, inspecting its little impurities. I noticed a chip in the receiver and a **** in the barrel but surely this would not hinder its performance. My mind filled with dark thoughts the longer I held the revolver, so I placed it back in the cabinet locking the door. My hands shook from the exhilarating fear that swept over my body as I raced to put the key into the drawer on the other side of the kitchen, in order to smother the malicious feelings that had seeped into my mind. Sip. The tasteless wine slipped through my lips and made its course around my hollow body. No matter how much I drank, it would never fill the black void that his love once called home.
As I held the dwindling glass, I looked around the empty shell of a room. It caught my eye, the raven sat upon my window sill, his eyes dark as night. I looked down at the rouge as if it was never ending like the river of amnesia pouring down my throat but no matter how much I consumed, the raven always seemed to be lurking among the shadows like a renegade. How did he know of my where abouts? He disappeared before I even left the woods.