“Sir, this is your room key. Your room number is 813 and the lift is on the right-hand side”, the receptionist handed him the room keys.
He picked up the keys and started walking towards the life. He was hungry and tired. Nonstop talking in meetings sucked his energy. As he opened the room, he sensed a flick of weirdness but soon he brushed it away.
He crashed on the bed as soon he entered the room. He had his dinner on his way to a hotel. The only thing he needed at this moment was a good sleep and he didn’t even bother to change into comfortable clothing for that. AC and the fan were on best possible setting to fight the scorching heat.
It was around 4 am when he suddenly woke up. The fan was making very loud noise and before he could react, the fan just dropped from the ceiling. There was blood everywhere and the last thing which came to his mind was about his wife. Past was dancing in front of his eyes in those brief moments. His sins were staring back into his eyes.
It was room number 813 of the same hotel where his wife committed suicide five years back and the reason for her suicide was declared unknown.
I am participating in A to Z Challenge for the second consecutive year and my theme this year is Flash Fiction.