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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