She sat her head in her hands, eyes closed. The pounding in her head would not stop. It was like a wrecking ball knocking into that last stubborn wall of a demolition project.
The room spun when she attempted to stand. Shaking legs took her from the desk to the couch. Lying down to ease the dizziness she pulled a cushion over her face. The sounds bombarded her.
It would not stop. She was on sensory overload. Too many sounds, too many flashing lights; she had to make it stop. One hand on the cushion she rolled over to reach into the cabinet.
The bottle was cool to the touch. The sweet nectar calling her name, she poured a glass and opened the small pill bottle.
That’s how they found her. Two empty bottles, contents spilled over the carpet.
Her pulse was weak, her only vice her undoing.
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