It was a silent sort of night, dark and uninhabitable. She felt the black creep up into her veins–veins that were screaming for impending Doom to halt, but why would it listen to the piteous, skinny components of such an inferior creature? The unwelcome gloom seeped into her bloodstream, infecting her happy hormone secreting glands, turning them into oblivious vestigial organs that merely squatted in the cage she called a body.

Infested with parasites as she was, she could not maneuver much but her mind. Her mind. Firing off electrical pulses that tried, burst, and fried. They too could not function very well anymore after all.

So there she sat, sequestered in the melancholy dark, being consumed slowly by her own self. There was no one else. Or at least, she could not see them. Or their hospitable hands.

She remained stuck and still. Still here. Still there, in the silent sort of night.


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