Challenge
Suicide (any format)
Suicide
Not Grim At All (a drabble)
The drip-drops from the faucet are steady like the ticktocks of a second-hand.
White porcelain, stained pink beneath flickering flourescents; humming from a bad bulb accompanies a steady rhythm of the drops dripping into the tub.
He is a shadow, cold among rising steam. She can almost see him, but he is blurred beneath her heavy eyelids. She tries speaking, but words are as slippery as her grasp on life in this moment.
Drowsiness fades away as he takes her hand. She opens her eyes, pleased to find the stories untrue.
There is no scythe, and her journey isn’t grim.
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