Fine Wood

The door slowly creeped open, letters and documents were sprawled across the floor in an organised manner, rather unnervingly the lights flickered slightly.

The carpet was littered in a grey soot, ash slowly trickled off onto the floor and clouds of smoke raised the ceiling, large musty, damp patches of water soiled the carpets dignity.

Luke walked in, his eyes tracked every slight shift within the spread of atoms, his eyes narrowed, a dark figure was sprawled across a desk.

It was Christopher Miller.

He held a large bottle of alcohol within one hand with a pack of cigarettes atop his boot.

Luke chuckled slightly, he furrowed his eye brows and formed creases of waves along his forehead, before closing the door, leaving the suspecting eyes of the men to gander at the fine wood.