The old grandfather clock rang out through the mansion filling the darkness with loud noise, a lone figure sat on a leather chair with his hands covering his face. He sat there sobbing hard, with a bottle of whiskey next to him on a stand. On the other side of the glass is a gun with bullets scattered aimlessly all over the stand. The figure looks up tears dripping down his cheek; his shaken hand reaches out and fumbles to pick up the gun. He slowly puts the gun into his mouth, and fingers wanders towards the trigger. More tears fall down to the marble floor, sobbing more he starts to shakes. He’s unable to pull the trigger; he suddenly gets up taking the gun out of his mouth. He places the gun back down onto the stand and walks slowly over to the fireplace. He reaches out and picks up a picture; he starts to trace his figure on the face in the photo.