She lines up eight glasses of water, perfectly in a row across the counter. Blood rushing to her head, weak at the knees. Each glass partners with exactly four sleeping pills. She will need no more, no less. What’s the difference between right and wrong, when the world around you is going to hell?
One by one, she’ll drink away her life, praying, “Oh dearest Lord, help me fall asleep, and never let myself awake. Keep me close to you, to my dreams and fantasies.”