Stoically, she sits with her eyes gazing through the pigmented glass in front of her. Eternity slowly slipping by with each “tick” from the clock above her head, even though she is completely oblivious to the soft sound in the silent room. She continues with her gaze, while her mind remains a blank slate. Once a sanctuary filled with a hundred thousand hopeful thoughts and ideas, has turned into a barren abyss; a ghost town to which no one would ever return.

The cool breeze making its way in from the cracks in the glass makes tiny goose bumps appear, trickling down her arms to where both hands are clenched into two tight fists. The left containing nothing but the stale air she breathed in, but the right containing a tiny amber bottle coated in the perspiration of her tight-knit fingers.

A quiet exhale escapes past her pale lips, as if it were a breath she’d been holding deep inside of her for so long and she was finally ready to let it go. The final swirling embodiment of the hatred and anguish making a wispy journey out of the host that it once infected. Inwardly, she finally found peace.

Moments continuing to pass by, and her quiet exhales begin to turn into heaving deep breaths. Her heart begins to beat rapidly against her chest, almost as if it was on a quest to detach itself from her. No longer did she feel the chill from the cool breeze, as the goose bumps were replaced by beads of sweat as her body temperature began to rise.

Her fingers begin to tremble, and then begin to shake. The small amber bottle falls to the ground making a sound equivalent to a boom of thunder in the silence attic as the trembling turned into a violent shaking.

Her stomach decides to join in on the game and begins to churn, making her feel nauseated. Normally, this would have been enough to move her from her seat by her stained-glass window, but nothing was normal anymore. She continues to sit without an emotive expression in her pale eyes as the life inside of her slowly slipped away into a state of blissful darkness.

The shell of the girl she used to be finally tumbles freely forward onto the wooden planks, her head resting upon a single sheet of paper with her scribbled writings – “Sorry".

- - -

After ringing the doorbell for the third time, you begin to wonder if your friend is even home. You find yourself thinking that this situation is quite peculiar, as she had called you a few hours before and left a message saying that she had wanted you to come over. You would have been there sooner, but you had been sleeping when the phone had rang, and you're such a heavy sleeper even an earthquake wouldn't wake you.

Figuring that she had probably decided to step out, you cut your losses and turn to walk away. As you make your way down the driveway, you see a white Ford Focus start to pull in – the vehicle your friend's mom drives. Taking a closer look as the car rolls to a stop and the tall woman gets out, you see that her eyes are bloodshot as if she's been crying.

The End

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