"All too familiar, each sensation.

The weight of the gun in his hand, curiously heavy, as if the frame were imbued with tremendous gravitas.
As if each bullet was another year of his life wasted in ennui, bereft of purpose, inevitably crawling toward
an end that taunted him incessantly.

The slick metal parting his lips, resting heavily against his teeth, unyielding and imposing. So much more
substantial and enduring than the mortal wielding it. Cold, tangible, concrete. So unlike this nebulous,
ephemeral existence, this half-life of dragging himself in a thousand directions, each endeavor merely a
distraction from the inescapable truth that it was all for naught.

The empty gaze returned from the mirror, the visual echo of the eyes of a man already dead.

All too familiar.

This wasn't the first time Daniel had been here like this.

It would be the last."

I'm going to be dumping a bunch of old art on here. Pardon the deluge of mediocrity.