Hinder, discoloured, calm, clock

The air still smelt of rich tobacco and his fingers were discoloured from holding his pipe.
She cried. Not for him, but for herself.
He’d been so selfish. It was out of spite he’d let it come this far.
It was bitterness that killed him.
He always seemed happy, but she saw the look in his eyes when he drew back on the pipe, or when he drank the last bit of colour out of the bottom of his glass of scotch. There was a cold flame in his eyes. The vivacious glint that lived within the pale blue ocean of his iris disappeared when he forgot to hold it there.
She knew he despised them for going with their mother.
She knew he despised their mother for hindering his career.
She knew he despised the world, his writing had told everyone that.
The clock chimed and she knew she had to leave.
The rain was cold outside, She pulled the hood of her parka over her head and placed the small, tainted flask in a half full garbage bin on the footpath.
Her hand was shaking by itself, but she felt calm.
She knew it was what he’d wanted, but he had too much pride to do it himself.
And at least now they could grieve the father they’d lost years ago.

The rain sang songs of falling as it cleansed everything from the sky down.