Be nice, it took 10 minutes 0

Yeah, I've did it again. I've started something I am most likely not going to finish. Please review it, I'd like an opinion.

As the title says, be nice, I didn't take much time over it.



The faint green glow of the alarm’s LED display was the only light in the dark, squalid room occupied by Michael Higgins. In the street outside, rain lashed the road. Higgins stirred as a particularly loud gust of wind whistled by his small window, before settling once more into his near-comatose state.
Suddenly, the alarm went off. Loud music blared from the small machine. Higgins’s eyes shot open and with a snarl he reached across the length of his bed and promptly smashed the “off” button with his fist. Satisfied with the lack of artificial noise, he closed his eyes once more.
Another loud gust of wind blew past the window, preventing Higgins from returning to his pleasant sleep. He groaned and pulled the covers above his head, wishing for them to swallow him up so that he didn’t have to put himself through the pain of another day.
Quite without enthusiasm, he forced himself away from the comfort and safety of his bed and towards the light switch. Stumbling over discarded beer cans on his floor, which rattled as he unintentionally kicked them, he reached his destination and promptly proceeded to illuminate the room.
That done, he wished he hadn’t.
His bedroom was the epitome of squalor. Said beer cans littered the floor around his bed. His clothes and shoes lay in random positions around the room. Higgins noted the presence of a half-empty bottle of vodka on the bedside table. A smile came to his face; perhaps this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Rubbing his tired eyes with one hand, he reached down for the bottle with the other. The cap was already off. “Cheers.” He muttered sarcastically to his reflection in the cracked mirror before pouring the acrid and foul-tasting liquid down his throat. He gasped and wiped his mouth before returning the now fully empty bottle to its original place.
Presently, he took time to observe the image of the man in the mirror. He possessed long, messy and greasy dark brown hair, which obscured a fair amount of his face. Bloodshot green eyes were just visible below the fashion disaster he called hair. His nose was unremarkable, save the slightly red tip which betrayed his love of alcohol. His lips were slightly pale, and very cracked.
“Fucking mess!” Yelled Higgins, pulling the mirror off the wall. It shattered on the ground, spreading broken glass in amongst the chaos of the floor. Outside, the wind continued to howl. Now suitable enraged, Higgins stormed over to the window. With an audible growl, he pulled the nylon cord, revealing the appalling weather. “Fucking great!” He yelled. Pure rage coursed through every syllable. He growled once more, this time striking the wall with his fist. Anger blocked out the pain.
He made quite an impressive dent.
“Fucking brilliant… Fucking fucking brilliant. Fucking fucking FUCKING BRILLIANT! He bawled before punching the wall again. And again. And again. Each blow was accompanied with a loud thud and another cry of “Fuck!”
Suddenly, there was a cry from upstairs:
“Higgin’s will ye keep it doon ye goddamn fucking cunt!” The voice demanded. Higgins responded by punching the wall once more.
Thud. “Fuck!”
“I’m warnin’ ya ya bastardin’ prick!”
Thud. “Fuck!”
“Right, that’s it!”
Thud. “Fuck!” Thud. “Fuck!” Thud. “Fuck!” Higgins continued to punch the wall with increasing vigour, apparently oblivious to the threats from above.
All of a sudden, there came the sound of a loud crash in the other room. Higgins continued his relentless assault against the wall regardless. He continued even as his room door was literally kicked off its hinges by a short, balding man.
“Whit the fuck are ye fuckin’ playin’ at?” The newcomer shouted. His arms bulged with muscle beneath his skin-tight t-shirt, though he possessed a fat gut, most likely the result of alcohol. He looked at the near naked figure of Higgins with complete disgust and malice.
Higgins took no notice, and continued to pound the wall.
“Did you hear me you fuckin’ dick?” The man roared, stepping towards Michael. Higgins turned to face him, a look of maniac fury in his eyes. His knuckles were raw, blood dripped from the wounds. The man recoiled slightly, somewhat panicked. The slight fear did not linger in the heart of the man for long, for it was soon replaced with fury and disgust at himself, how could a man as strong and masculine as he be afraid of the scrawny lunatic who stood before him?
Michael Higgins stared blankly at the intruder. His face appeared completely impassive. The man took a threatening step towards him. Higgins responded by picking up a particularly large shard of broken glass which lay on the floor. He grasped it tightly, feeling the warmth of his own blood in his hand.
The man backed off slightly, though he raised his hand in an intimidating manner. Higgins laughed a laugh reserved normally only for the insane and began to calmly march towards the small yet muscular man. “Oh dear, it would appear that you’ve broken my door Mr. Shaw. Oh dear.” Higgins said jovially before giggling slightly. “I think you might want to pay for the damages. I think it would be the right thing to do. I think you should go back upstairs, get your wallet and give me all the money that our great government has kindly donated to you.”
The man was, it must be said, slightly uneasy. But the slight worry was all but entirely blocked out by sheer blinding rage towards the condescending… Child which stood before him.
“Whit the fuck hiv’ ye been smokin’? Ye think I’m fuckin’ scared of you?” The man roared, staring up into the drunken madman’s eyes.
“You’re probably not scared of me really. I know that y’see. I realise it. I fully realise it. I really do fully realise it as a matter of fact. But, I do think that you are scared of dying. And trust me, if you do not give me the money to pay for the damage you did to my door that specific fear will come to pass because you will be dying. On my nice, clean floor do. Hah, get it? I called my floor clean!” Higgins had another cheerful laugh to himself.
“Ir ye fuckin’ threatenin’ me?” The man demanded, pushing Higgins back in his anger.
“Oooh… I was only threatening you. But it’s not nice to push people. I’m sorry, I may have to carry out my previous threat now I’m afraid. I really must apologise.” With that, he lunged forward, stabbing the man called Mr. Shaw with the broken shard of glass.
Time passed slowly for Shaw at that moment. The sound of the wind and the rain appeared to him to increase dramatically in volume. He felt his own blood begin pumping out of the open wound in his chest. Pain coursed through him. He coughed, then fell backwards. It seemed an age before he hit the ground, his large, heavy body crushing several beer cans as it landed. As he lay there, feeling his life slip away from him with every breath he caught sight of the young man staring over him. He tried to curse, but the only sound to escape his mouth was a light wheeze. His vision was blurring now. Black spots danced around the room. He coughed again. As his vision faded he spluttered once more, deep crimson blood began trickling down his chin. He felt his eyes begin to close and then he drew his final breath…
It all happened much quicker for Higgins. Far quicker in fact. There was no melodramatic slow motion scene playing out before him, oh no. In the world of Higgins the man was stabbed, fell and died, plain and simple.
How had it come to this?