Mug

"What went wrong! what went wrong?" he yelled, demanding out the window of the second story of his penthouse. "I would do anything to go back." again yelling out the window. It was raining and dark, there was lightning, but he hadn't heard any thunder yet. Frantic and spazmatic, he poured himself a half glass of whiskey, and drank it. Inhaling deeply he relaxed. Everything slowed. He stood in the living room of his home. Everything surrounding him, his. Built literally brick by brick by him, a fortress. "What could have happened?"  he asked as he exhaled, the whiskey just now really taking effect and warming his insides, burning. His path, his conscience takes another drastic change. His head drops and the rage ensues. Still holding his glass he lifts his head and looks out the window. Grinning he pitches the glass out into the darkness to hit the streets. It smashes on the concrete. He hears someone yell. Sitting there thinking of why. Touching his face, he realizes it's because he's ugly. Then a flash of light in the wind, outside, or was that inside, then the bang.