❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
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Heather and Lewis Adams often spent their evenings curled up in front of the fireplace observing a soap opera that neither of them was paying any attention to.
Neither of them would speak to one another. Neither of them would bother to open the curtains that would to stay firmly shut throughout the twenty-four-hour cycle of the day. Neither of them, perhaps most significantly, would dare to acknowledge the deafening silence that plagued the household.
From the outside, they were your average, ageing couple.
A passer-by wouldn't care for the two-story house sitting on the outskirts of London. Any onlooker bypassing the home couldn't possibly imagine the empty corridors or the silence that echoed through them. There was no way in which it would be possible for a stranger passing by to know the exact colour of the bright walls of the empty bedroom; nor would it be possible to see the bunk bed that had been left unmade through the closed curtains.
In conclusion of our analysis: it was highly improbable that you would be able to tell just how lonely the couple felt in each others' company just by glancing at the house in which they appeared to hibernate in.
Isolated from the world, it came as a complete shock to hear a tap on the door on that late December evening.
