no name yet

In her hand they look so tiny, almost innocent. An ocean of small white ovals floating within her cupped palm. The lighting is low, dim, produced entirely from the orangish glow of a streetlight that spills through the foggy window. The outline of each pill is exaggerated in the faint darkness as if each edge has been painted with a thin black line. Tilting her hand to the side, she watches their silhouettes shift.
Night sky is invisible through the little window but for a thick sable rectangle, from her position on the floor. Several shades of grey charcoal dance, overlap, cut, and crisscross about the room. A hazy, halo of light poorly illuminates the center of this space reflecting off the oily tile floor. Outside this circle, everything is cast in darkness, deepening in the corners. She sits on the edge of the halo, her face strewn into shadow, the tip of her shoes taste the corner of the dusky light.
She stares deeply down into her hand at the pills, lost in the pattern of their slender bodies. They appear to gleam in an eerie incandescence. Gently, but without hesitation, she lifts a single tablet from the pile. It rests between her index finger and thumb. She peers at it for a split moment, then places it in the back of her throat. She swallows dry. It rides down her throat without complaint.
The kitchen has an unpleasant aroma that drifts in and out of her with each breath. Overripe tomatoes rotting in a timeless fruit bowl, severely burnt toast blackened beyond recognition, a mix of synthetic cleaning products stashed under the sink, spilled alcohol slick on the faded yellow counter. I will not miss this place. Goodbye, goodbye. She pops another pill. She can feel its surface sticking gingerly to the sides of her sodden throat. It leaves a lump in her neck that cannot be cured from repeated swallowing. Her eyes brim slightly. Another tablet down. Then another. Another. She smiles in knowing that it's ending. This is right, and she wants it to be this way. More pills. Sometimes two, three at a time. She gags, and takes a minute to breathe in a rush of heavy air. Grinning. Smiling. Dry lips stretched, cracks spider across their pink surface.
Minutes slip by. Capsules slip down. Tiny beads of brilliant light dot the perimeters of her vision. She feels much like a horse dressed in blinders. The kitchen twirls sickeningly before her, blurring and doubling. Standing is impossible at this point. Everything lurches in and out of focus. Her stomach gargles and complains, queasy. Her lips remain stretched, her smile undisturbed. Saliva dribbles from her mouth. Dizziness sends aching pangs to her head. She attempts to lift a hand to wipe at her slubbery chin, but her brain spins and she can't seem to get her hand to her jaw, instead smearing spittle across her cheek. Her thoughts skip about one another, and she can't seem to focus on a single one without it being lost in a moment. Darkness pools on the boundaries of her sight. Her palm once full with capsules, now hangs all but empty at her side. Her stomach boils, she feels as if she might burst.
Sliding down the wall, she finds her self suddenly in a very uncomfortable slump on the floor. She is stuck in place by the threat of severe nausea. Vomit flows from her lips in aggressive heaves. She fights hard to keep as much down as she can. Only vaguely smelling or tasting anything. Her senses are glazed over, bland. Her eyelids are being pulled down, it is so difficult to resist. She lets them fall closed. If you were to look down from above on her, you would see a simple girl. Her hair is died a few simple colors and that is the most exiting thing about her. She rests face down on the ground, sprawled with her filthy, matted hair spinning off in a number of directions. A pool of her own regurgitation floats about her, slowly expanding across the floor. Several pale, oval shaped capsules drift along side her, miniature boats gliding through a murky, gruesome sea. Her head is on its side, a twisted smile draws out her face.
He reaches icy fingers toward her in a motherly way, as if to caress the side of her face. His hand hovers a breath away from her skin, so close, the little hairs on her cheek stand up. She takes her hand and places it over his, palm to the back of his hand. She can feel his frigid touch permeating, seeping through the flesh just above her jaw. Spreading.
There is no sound but it is as if she can hear him sigh. She can't tell if it's a sigh of welcome or pity. She is suddenly aware of a subdued whisper echoing with a husky voice in the back of her head. Every living creature dies alone. Then it is gone. Foundation falls from under her. An abrupt stillness settles soundlessly over everything. Heart slows. S l o w s. stop.