[ WP ] Write about a person coping with the death of a friend .

That Friday night, when Steven got home earlier from work, no one could notice one thing off about his behaviour. He twisted the key as he always did, one time to the left, and then two times to the right. He opened the door as he always did, just enough to get between it and the stand right next to the wall. He sat on the couch, staring blankly into the ceiling, thinking about his day, as he always did for fifteen minutes, no more, no less, before taking off his shoes and going into the kitchen to cook some dinner, as he always did. 
 
 But by the end of his meal, it was clears Steven could n't hold it in anymore. Urgently, he got up and into the bathroom, lunged towards the toilet, and vomited the stake he had just finished eating. Then out came breakfast. And then everything else, until his stomach was completely empty. By the end, Steven was sobbing inches away from the toilet porcelain, praying in his mind to anyone and no one, wishing for it to stop. 
 
 Alas, nothing stopped. Not his vertigo, nor his pain, nor his life, which he secretly wanted to forsake. Still staring at the bottom of the toilet, he contemplated the possibility of diving in it, drowning himself in a pool of his own sick. Or maybe there was something behind and beyond it, maybe the pipe would lead him to a magical kingdom besieged by wars between mice and cockroaches. He got himself yearning to Wonderland, someplace away from wherever he was, before realising he was already falling down some rabbit's hole, into a freaky and lonely world where he would never see the people he loved again. 
 
 When he finally got up from his sorrow, he gazed himself in the mirror, to face the signs of the sadness he promised not to feel. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the rough uncut beard on his cheeks, and the pale tone of his face. He stared at his own image for what seemed like hours, looking into his own eyes as his mind drifted through all the thoughts that were not the ones he wanted to think about, because that was the only way not to think about them. 
 
 By the time he got to bed, it was already just before dawn. He laid down on the sheets, and only got up Sunday morning.
