The cup crashes to the floor, it shatters spitting it's contents out. The man smiles, he squats. He carefully scoops the broken porcelain into his left hand. He squeezes tight. Blood drips from his clenched fist and hits the cool tile mixing with the spilt tea. The florescent lighting swings overhead. His smile is now just clenched teeth. The only thing in his life that he has any kind of a grip on are the sharp peices cutting into his hand. The ground lurches up at him quickly. His head bounces off the floor and his hand unclenches releasing ****** peices of porcelain. Hes having a hard time remembering, what's his name? what's his name? Did he drink out of the broken cup? what was in it? Where is he? His head jerks up off the floor face wet with tea and blood.

The floor is hardwood, it needs to be refinished badly. The light flickers and switches off. He struggles to his knees and hears a shuffling in the shadows. He freezes and a dim blue light fills the room. He flexes his hand and the remaining peices of porcelain fall off and hit the ground, they make such a satisfying sound. He turns scanning the room unable to decipher the shadows.