Pink Floyd blared into my ears as I leaned on the the parapet, a recently bought bottle of Smirnoff in my hands. I took a sip.

"Hey you, out there in the cold

Getting lonely, getting old

Can you feel me?

Hey you, standing in the aisles

With itchy feet and fading smiles

Can you feel me?

Hey you, dont help them to bury the light"

The lyrics made me smile. No one could feel me. No one felt anything for me, as long as I could remember. I took another sip.

 "Hey you, standing in the road

always doing what you're told,

Can you help me?

Hey you, out there beyond the wall,

Breaking bottles in the hall,

Can you help me?

Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all"

You know the thing about Floyd? Not only are they damn good, they sound better with every drink, as if the singers designed them for Vodka. They're in a combo class of their own.

It was dreadfully cold on the roof. The usually warm concrete surface tonight felt frozen and dead. The only thing that felt warm was my liver, with all the alcohol inside. I felt the cool winter breeze robbing me of the last bit of warmth on my face. I looked at the crescent moon in the sky, and felt a pang of guilt attack me. She and I first met on a night like this. On a rooftop like this.

I set the stereo to loop. The song rewinded and started again.

 "But it was only fantasy.

The wall was too high,

As you can see.

No matter how he tried,

He could not break free.

And the worms ate into his brain".

Oh yes they did. They ravaged my brain, feasted on it until I was left with no feelings. I smiled at this sudden realisation, at the realisation that I was an animal now, devoid of humanity. The 'humane' part of me had died when I shot her three hours ago. The worms had then infested my battered mind, as I held her in my arms, and the scarlet blood pooled on the tiled floor.

There was still a lot of vodka left in the bottle.

Her parting words echoed in my brain, or what was left of it. "I hate you",she had whispered into my ears, as the light went out of her infinitely dark eyes. Poor Sandra, still the naive infant she always was. Hate was a commonality. Such a bourgeois feeling. It took courage to be rid of hate and despair. It took courage to be me. To be what I had become.

I heard the police sirens blaring throughout the road.

They stopped in front of my house.

Floyd sang:

 "Hey you, out there on your own

Sitting naked by the phone

Would you touch me?

Hey you, with you ear against the wall

Waiting for someone to call out

Would you touch me?

Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?

Open your heart, I'm coming home."

"COMING HOME..............." I sang at the top of my voice. I took the Smirnoff bottle, drowned the rest of the whisky (along with my despair), and took out the Colt revolver from my pocket, and loaded a bullet into the empty clip.

I pointed the gun to my head and looked at the stars. Floyd's lyrics washed over me as I flew up to the dimly lit sky and it flew down at me. I pulled the trigger.

I looked at my blood soaked wristwatch as everything around me began to blur . The neon green display informed me that it was 5.55 PM.