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The room was quiet, except for the buzzing of flies on the glass window, specked with raindrops from that morning's rain. Sherrinford sat on his bed, and began plucking at the strings of his acoustic guitar. Life had turned grey. Nothing held pleasure, or happiness anymore. Just the meaningless, dreary hours of each day ticking ever slowly past.
Laughter, dancing, colour, singing...all dull. Just, grey, grey and more grey. Flowers seemed unattractive, sky's always filled with storm clouds...
Sherrinford snapped out of his thoughts, and stared at the flies climbing up and down the window, in a seemingly useless pattern.
Knock. Knock.
His blue eyes looked up, at the doorway, as it opened slowly.
