Even though Micheal had found himself disillusioned by the mysterious woman, he knew that she was never to be seen again by his own eyes.
He had to face each day knowing that he let her slip through his fingers.
Micheal had no idea who she was. But, he knew she was special.
As she had walked by him, he recognised the perfum she was wearing. He believed it was 'Circus' by Brittany Spears.
How did he know this?
He had bought it for his late wife for their anniversary.
He believed, as a couple, they were content.
Every day, Micheal found himself smiling at the picture of his late wife on his desk.
A week after that anniversary, she was found dead in the basement of their family home.
Micheal and his late wife had no children.
So, advice was given by a counsellor to move out of the house.
Two years on, Micheal was living in a down-town appartment, living off barely anything.
He had lost his good job awhile back.
So, this one beautiful woman, who had never seen before, had made his day.
Or maybe his week.
Or maybe his year...
Micheal watched as the woman walked away, her butt moving side to side.
A sigh escaped his lips.
He opened the paper bag, he held in his right hand, to see the bottle of vodka and the butchers knife.
He closed the bag after some time of starring at the clear liquid and sharpened knife.
Micheal then caught the 24 bus home.
He was stuck next to a teenage mother and her bawling child.
The only thought going through Micheal's head was; "Shut the fucking child up."
Not the thought of the suicide ahead. Just the thought of shutting the child up.
The bus slowly pulled up outside of the line of shops.
Micheal pushed past the mother and her child, and stormed off the bus, not even giving the bus driver a simple 'thank you'.
He slowly dragged his feet round the back of the shops to find the stairs towards his appartment.
His appartment was above the local Polish shop.
Once he had pulled himself up the stairs, Micheal shoved the keys into the wooden door and twisted them.
The door opened with a small creak.
Micheal walked in and slammed the door behind him.
He placed the paper bag on the coffee table in his living room, the first room of two in his 'home'.
He pulled out the vodka and took the cap off.
The top of the bottle was placed firmly against his lips as he took a long swig of the alcohol.
After a few seconds, he threw the bottle onto the floor, smashing the bottle and spilling the contents everywhere.
The liquid that remained on his lips dribble down his chin.
He took the knife from the paper bag and placed it up to his neck.
The blade pushed against his neck, causing pressure.
The tip of the blade dug in slightly.
A droplet of blood was drawn.