Alone

         Every day she wakes up, gets dressed, goes to work and pretends to get along with everyone, comes home, eats a modest dinner and falls asleep reading her favourite book. It's a modest life and she's become complacent, she earns enough to save a little and once every couple of years goes on a trip to a place she's never been. She seems to be in a good place, the walls contain noise and her neighbors never intrude, her balcony overlooks a great portion of the city skyline, and yet, perhaps through the static of the alley below, she feels despondent, distant from the rest of the world around her.
         Somber thoughts drift through her as she lay still in the tub, she tries instead to remember the particulars of her day, running through the events as though she were having a conversation with a lover. It never works, she's tried it over and over and every time she tries to shed the melancholy a thought reverberates within and the memories unwind themselves like a poorly knit shirt. She felt defenseless against the shock of pain, the tingling that burned as it coursed from her spine to her toes, she let out a scream to shame a two year old, but the walls are thick, they contain noise, and so she lays there, trying to summon the strength to stand, to leave this room, to leave the dark patch in the corner of her eye.
         The pang begins to throb more violently, she scratches at her temples and presses on her skull in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. The backs of her eyes scream in pixels as she stands to her knees, clutching the edge of the tub. A foamy pressure mounts and she tries desperately to lift the lid of the toilet seat, the world spinning and incoherent, a rage building as she slowly loses motor control. With the lid up she positions herself before the bowl and dry heaves bile into the water below.
         A siren streaks by and light offsets her balance, a hand slips into the water splashing bile onto the wall and floor, another pang and she slides down the wall and curls into a fetal position, hands over her ears, face tucked into her legs, trying desperately to drown the outside noise and light and volume, the overplayed stench of a deep-fryer down the block, a whining child and a coddling parent, the bass of a kick drum pounding a consistent thump thump-thump thump. She rolls onto her knees again, preparing herself to make a break for the pain killers.
         Top shelf, middle mirror, top shelf, middle mirror, top shelf, middle mirror.
Her knees quake, she pushes her elbow onto the edge of the tub, steadies herself and looks, to her dismay as she opens her eyes, to a tunnel of darkness with a dot of light accentuated in shimmering black squares.
         Top shelf, middle mirror, top shelf, middle mirror, top shelf, middle mirror.
She reaches to the counter-top and brings herself close to the sink, slowly, achingly, she reaches the mirror and swings it open. Breathing heavily she readies herself to stand, top shelf, middle mirror, top shelf, middle mirror. Gingerly, she opens one eye, just a crack, just enough for the pain to seep in, but just enough to see the pill bottle. With it firmly in hand she turns the water on, feels around for a cup and opens the bottle. Three pills in her palm and glass of water in the other she drops the pills on her tongue and dips her head back to drink, slipping on the bile on the tiles from before as she loses her balance and falls backwards onto the edge of the tub.
She seemed to be in a good place, the walls contained noise and her neighbors never intruded as the dark patch in the corner of her eye spread to consume her.