Dan sat at his desk trying to write but it was all jumbled mess.
He groaned tearing the page off, squeezing it and throwing it on the floor joining the rest like it.
'Why can't I write?'
He sighed leaning back against the chair. He closed his tired eyes.
His mind was blank, he could feel no emotion whatsoever—and it scared him.
He had no inspiration to write, he was just numb and it frustrated him.
Seeing Philip again, after so long, had made him happy, made him feel less lonely, even though it had been for a fleeting moment.
Dan sighed, he knew he was losing control. Dan stared at his right hand-it was shaking.
He'd killed a man...and his daughter.
Dan tried to shake off the memory but he couldn't.
He'd smelt something mouth-watering and it'd turned out to be the people nearby.
