Hannah Johnson didn't go home, but drove to a nearby area at the foot of the mountains. It was late at night, no one was around, only half of the moon in the sky, sprinkling specks of silver light.
From here, one could see the night view of Capital City.
The lights were warm, the neon dazzling.
The night was cold, and Hannah had dressed too lightly, just having choked a few times on smoke. Now, there seemed to be a faint redness remaining at the corners of her eyes, but a few sips of alcohol had warmed her up.
"Want a drink?" Hannah offered the red wine to the person beside her.
"No, thanks."
Hannah just smiled, drank nearly half the bottle, leaned against the car, and tilted her head to look at him, "Don't you think that, sometimes, being alive feels quite meaningless?"
The man didn't speak.
"You might have heard some things about our family, actually, last time at the hospital, I wasn't sick, but was cut by my father's knife."
"Just as one wound healed, another formed."
