Omen

Cold, cold, the coldness of hell

The man woke up. Again.
Minnesota was an icy place in that time of the year. He took a look around and smelt the sweet scent of failure all over his soul. His fingers were burnt (partly because of the cigarettes, but mostly because of some arcane spells he had to cast last night), his head was numb.

"this isn't big news" he thought. Then he started to recall last night. It hurted. He ran towards the bathroom and puked in the pile.

After drinking some water, the man raised his head and looked at the mirror. There were some erratic lipstic letters written in the surface.

The writing’s on the wall
It won’t go away

James puked again, washed his face and returned to bed thinking "the summary of my life".