When I woke up that morning and looked out of my bedroom window I could see all the streets were covered in grey slush, which seemed to add an extra element to the oppressive feel the city already had for me. Turning my attention away from the world outside I padded across the room to the small bathroom where I knew I would find the small pile of clothes I had been wearing for the last day or so. My desire to keep myself presentable had slowly been slipping away as the deep feeling of depression ate away at me. That morning, though, the normal black cloud I felt hanging over my head, did not feel quite as heavy as it usually did. My visit to the city archives had given me a new lead to follow as I tried to trace how my wife, a kindergarten teacher, had ended up in league with the devil. Slipping on my crumpled jeans, which still had a couple of blood splatters on them, I gave myself a quick going over in the mirror. I had never been one for vanity, but under the bright light in the small bathroom, I could see more lines under my eyes.
