She

I was running.

I was running and jumping over bricks and broken stones.

She was there. I saw her. In the corner of the alley. Slumped over, her shoulders hunched with disappointment.

I had to make it. I had to or something would happen. She wasn't in a good state. Life was getting icnreasingly difficult for her.

Then I saw it. I neared the dark alley and saw the vial. She held it up high, like a trophy she might be putting on a shelf. That shelf was her. And the trophy was what was inside.

What was inside?

I rushed over to her, panic still floosing my body. I was out of breath by the time I got to her, the dark of the alley overcoming my sight.

I had to try and see her body, sitting on the ground, waiting for release. But I didn't. I saw a tiny reflection of a vial, and realized she hadn't taken it yet, and was going to -- I was so close by this time. Almost so close to her if I jumped forward I could have smacked the vial out of her hands but by the time I was near her, it was too late.

I leaned down and picked up her hand, her limp right hand and I couldn't feel my tears or see anything in the pitch black. All I could do was hold onto her hand and feel what it must have felt like to be her.

But I only felt what it was like to be here. What it was like to reach here, but be too late.