Friday, August 22, 2008

She tries to think of a way that would be the least traumatic for the person or people who found her. She didn't want to be dead for days before anyone came. The thought of her dog without food or water, his pilings in the corner of her room. He looks up at her now, as if he knows what's she's planning. Don't do it, he says with his smoky yellow eyes. 

She's contemplated pills. Jumping off cliffs (although there were none around). Running her car into a tree (although the thought of disfigurement without death terrified her more than going). Anything particularly violent was out. No stabbing. No guns. No hanging. In truth, she supposed, there were only a handful of ways to go out. She'd love to leave triumphantly, saving the life of a stranger, dying during an experimental surgery to cure cancer. It won't happen naturally. She will either take it herself, as it is hers in the first place, or it will happen to her in some fantastic tragedy as she least expects it. She will welcome it, teary eyes and lips open and she will melt away like sugar in water. 

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