.3 and Carmosel - A Short Though A Very Long Story

He comes back home at 7pm sharp. Completely washed out from the day's hectic work. With one hope, yes he has someone to take his back. Carmosel, never thought in that direction ever. He never realised he can be stripped off, of all that he has. There is a blur. He realises he is growing old. He looks at his watch, its 7:10pm. He has nothing to do. Nothing to say. Just a blank corner to stare at. He sits in one corner and his face becomes wet. It has become a routine. Its a part of his life. It all started, the day he realised that all his innocence has betrayed him. Whatever he had learnt till date was completely ridiculous. Promises, feelings, people, life and more importantly his own beliefs. They were all kept in a box, in one corner. Its nothing but useless bits of pieces of paper. Carmosel, gets up, washes his face and opens the box again. He looks at pictures, notes and retrospects for awhile. He is tired of the routine. He knows, none of it matters anymore. He looks around and fixes some vodka for himself. He knows its gonna be a long evening. He turns on the television and just stares at the screen. His favourtie song is on. But he is not interested anymore. He is sick of it. Carmosel gets up, and decides to sleep for awhile. But then there is no peace. He can't sleep. He can't stay up. It happens again. He looks at his phone again. It is as silent as the day he bought it. He throws it away. His face becomes wet again. He is sick of it. And then...in a sudden spur... he pulls out his beautiful .3 . Looks at it again. "Here we are". Bang.