Sat in the dark corner of the room under a night of waning dawn. Not a single sliver of light from shutters drawn. Five unlit cigarette butts on the polished wooden floor. One still lit on her lips, which soon became the finished sixth.
An eighties tune played upstairs as a muffled, almost indiscernible sound. It had lyrics; but one she did not understand. It didn't matter what her neighbor heard, though. What difference would it make to complain?
"If everything burned."
"If I."
"Only me."
"And myself."
Rock bottom had a reasonable rent. One she paid as dearly as she knew that dialing through her cell phone contacts wouldn't change a thing. No one would show up to take her hand. No new names besides those still saved.
"Mommy. Daddy. Henderson."
"Daddy. Henderson."
"Henderson."
And now there was only one contact left. And there was no turning back, because the other numbers had been lost in the past long ago, among the reminiscences that tightened her chest and choked her breath.
"All day sleeping."
"All day if I could."
"But I can't sleep no more."
Five missed calls. And from the army, perhaps? After almost three weeks without working, she should have already lost her job. Or worse, forgotten by everyone she once thought to know; whilst she was fated to remember every single detail.
It was carved on her mind. Forged on her eyes.
"Out of my head."
"Please don't."
"I..."
"I am not afraid..."
The Afghan sand dried her saliva. The rough sheets stinged her harsh hands whilst the brief silence of the neighbours bled her ears. Cold sweat — searing, cutting down through the throat.
"One."
"Two."
"Three weeks?"
Her hands trembled holding the cold handle of the easy way out — the medicine was no longer in milligrams, but in millimeters. Her sighs quieted as she held the barrel against the roof of her mouth. The voices of all the people she had hurt composed a cacophonous requiem in her ears.
"The trigger."
A choked breath. Memories of when the sycamore trees on the farm shaded her hair — gone were the sincere smiles. A short film played out before her eyes.
Shooting ranges. Pulp Fiction. Grandfather. Lymphoma. Sand. Slums. Jesus Christ. Water.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"One..."
Tears flowed and mingled with the cold sweat. Her past was always behind her future. Wherever there was light, there was shadow.