The pain—more often than not, is like a monster inside of her; waiting for the time, the right time to burst through her gut, leaving her to die within the steaming mess of her intestines, alone
It reminds her of the recurring night terrors she would have as a small child, if she could remember them properly. But, for now, this is what she assumes one of them would be like. Never ending pain, wishing she could just wake up and smell the sea breeze again.
She sits, hunched over in agony and wonder all at the same time. It’s like a little patronizing demon, nagging.
“I’m here,” it says, “and I won’t come out but don’t expect me to be leaving anytime soon. I’m the thing that makes that little bottle of pills look all the more tempting. Like little candies. Sweet tarts even. Sugary, sleepy, goodness. And all you’ve got to do is open up and swallow.”
She shakes her head. That would only cause them more pain, she thinks. They really don’t need that any more than I do.
The twist of her kidneys, the lurch of her stomach, and over the toilet once more.
If this is what life is, then so be it.
I’ll live it.
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