Let's run this shit into the ground!

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R: So, short story writing. Not sure what to say about it. Character Development:

F: His hands were flat on the table, on either side of the manila envelope from her lawyer’s office, as if to grasp and strangle its contents should they move the wrong way. The chair that he had occupied was laying on its side a few steps away. His eyes were stuck on the opened flap of the envelope, and the exertion seemed to drown out any and all sound. The faucet continued to drip in spite of this, as it always did, the steady ‘thup…thup…thup’ of water droplets echoing inside the stainless steel basin. A small pool of water quivered under each impact, disturbing the ring of filth that had been pushed to the edges. He stood over the envelope for another minute, heart pulsing in time with the faucet, until he tore his eyes away and headed to fetch another cup from above the stove.

From the cabinets, his hands produced a small, crystal tumbler with gold filament blown into the glass. This was followed by a bottle of cooking brandy that he purchased the previous month. He set the glass down carefully and looked out of the window above the sink. He proceeded to tear the seal from the top of the bottle when his eyes began to drift across the linoleum floors, past the toppled chair, up a table leg, across the polished oak surface and finally resting on the envelope. His hands picked up their pace and the foil fell from the top of the bottle to the counter and bounced to the floor. Eyes locked on the envelope, he began to calmly twist the cork from the bottle. A small ‘pop’ cried out from his hands and his eyes swung back to the task at hand. A shoe crushed and crumpled the foil as he shifted to pour the liquor, not bothering to stop with a civil amount, keeping the bottle tilted until the amber liquid was lapping at the rim of the tumbler. The cork slid back into the bottle until the back was flush. His long fingers delicately raised the glass to his lips, and he took a small sip. His eyes closed and a half-smile flashed across his lips as he swallowed. A moment passed and he finally let himself breath in, the evaporating sensation that lay poised in the back of his nose and throat rushing down and filling him from the inside. A pleasant burning and a wave of calm radiated through his body, if only for a second.

‘Thup…thup...thup’. Eyelids fluttered open, and the glass was set back onto the counter. The glass clopped against the counter and brandy sloshed over the edge and onto his fingertips. He turned back to the stove and began to dry his hand on the white towel that hung on the oven door’s handle. He tossed the towel on top of the stove when he was finished and opened the cabinet again. His left hand disappeared to the back of the cabinet, his toes on end to give him a better view. There was a small clatter of bottles knocking against one another, and then his hand drew back out into the light with a small, red cardboard box grasped between thumb and forefinger. A shake of the box and the sound of small wooden sticks rattling inside was enough to bring the half-smile back to his face, no matter how fleeting its stay would be. Holding the box up in front of his face, nostrils flaring at the hint of sulfur, he began to trace his fingers against the light from the window over the ever leaky sink. The box was slipped into his pocket as he walked to the table. The envelope was whisked away and he exited the kitchen. A few moments later the front door could be heard opening and finally shut.

The kitchen was quiet again. There was coffee dripping down the wall opposite of the chair on the floor, some soaking into the drywall broken by the impact of the mug. Porcelain shards littered the tile below. A bitter aroma began to spread throughout the kitchen, permeating every nook and cranny, but had no nose to touch and no memories to evoke. The pool of water in the kitchen sink began to quiver with each added drop, until finally the last drop could no longer hold onto the lip of the faucet and plummeted. The tension broke, and the small pool began to slowly run out through the drain, the ring of dirt breaking and giving way to the liquid’s chosen path. Afterwards, the faucet continued to drip. ‘Thup…thup…thup’.