A twisted paradox, and the most wrenching of ironies.
He had spent his life watching, as people had struggled through existences that seemed meaningless in the extreme. Words without purpose, actions without conviction, lives without meaning. That had characterized everyone and everything around him.
And how he had searched. Searched for a glimpse of purpose in that barren land, void of hope. And how he had failed, and with his failure, the last dregs of hope had slipped from his hands. And he was left alone in the void, bereft of purpose,of meaning, and detesting the feel of that which he felt the most, Nothing.
His eyes drifted back to the present and came to rest upon that which had robbed him of the will to live.
He picked up the gun and felt his fingers slide over the smooth steel, as cold as death.
He put the gun to him temple, and with nothing but apathy driving him to death, as he had lived his life, he pulled the trigger.
As the life faded from his body, his eyes remained fixed to the mirror, unable to take themselves from what had stolen their light.
For he saw nothing.