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catastrophe
Friday, October 23, 2015, 2:33 PM

I lay my head on my silk pillows and rest my hands on my stomach, one on top of the other. My legs are stretched out straight with both my feet perpendicular to the mattress - toes and all. Every single muscle in my body is relaxed, still as the air in the room. My breaths are now shallow and soft as I try to be acquaintances with the lonely night. I close my eyes. Everything disappears. If seen from above, I look like a lifeless corpse ready to be put to eternal rest inside an overpriced coffin made to make the undead feel good about themselves at funerals. I might as well be one already, especially with this gorgeous vintage Valentino dress I have on. I can feel the delicate sharpness of each sequin overlapping another with my fingertips. That reminds me, I bought a packet of razor blades too just now — 4 in a single pack, half-off at Walmart. Too late.


Inhale.


Exhale.


Inhale.


Exhale—


I’m still here.

This isn’t working. The people on that pathetic forum said that ten pills should do the trick, but I feel like I just downed a handful of Skittles instead. Fuck. I paid good money for this. I wonder if they take refunds. Maybe I can replace the missing pills with some breath mints or something. Or Xanax. I’ll just scrape off the wordings. Those clowns won’t know the difference.

I open my eyes, and everything still looks the same. The fan above me is still rotating counterclockwise, and I’m still alive. The wall light to the right of my room still flickers annoyingly every few seconds, and I’m still alive. That gecko on the wall near the window has been eyeing me from the minute I closed my eyes, and it’s still there now. Still shit green in colour and I’m still fucking alive. One sleeping pill should make you drowsy, but I took ten and, wait, I feel a yawn coming — no, false alarm. This is not a yawn. And now I find myself face to face with what my ass says hello to every damn day. It feels like I’m breathing out fire. My throat is burning and going on overdrive — stomach acid is a bitch. Great, now my teeth are going to rot. Dr. Roberts is going to be so angry at me, I just had veneers done a month ago at his clinic. All of his hard work, gone to waste. So much for dying beautiful. Now I’m going to have to live ugly like the rest of them.

Wait a minute, I forgot I still have those razor blades. I lift my head from the toilet bowl and turn my head slightly to the right. But it’s so shiny and clean. I didn’t realise Miss Rosa came by this morning and waxed the marbles of the bathtub.

I wonder how hard it is to get bloodstains off of a marble surface.

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