She glanced nervously behind her as she fumbled with the pills over the sink, she didn't want to get caught. She counted them out into her hand and grimaced. Shivers were racing up and down her spine and she felt colder than she'd ever felt before. She paused for a second as she caught her own eyes in the cracked mirror, she looked drawn, to herself; she looked already dead.

She looked away from the reflection and tipped her head back as she threw the pills down her throat, she swallowed dryly then turned the tap on, lowering her head, she let the gushing rusty coloured water slide the last of the pills down her throat. She twisted the tap off, and looked back in the mirror.

Things had changed so much now, and this was the end, and it was the end she had chose for herself. She wanted to cry, but she didn't have the time. She wanted to go back and change it all, but she didn't believe in miracles. She moved away from the mirror and slid down the cold tiled wall on to the broken floor.

In the darkness of the public toilets her mind drifted. A smile hinted at her lips as she remembered the good times, few and far between, they had actually existed. She thought about what life could have been like, and she thought about the people who had ignored her cry for help.

Family, friends, none of them had helped her, she had wrote, she had phoned, still no one had came to her aid. She supposed she didn't actually have any friends left, and her family didn't want her, they had made that blatantly obvious. She felt her head become fuzzy as the pills started to take effect she could feel herself relaxing. She smiled again, life was ironic; she'd been born a spoiled kid, and her parents had loved her, she had been the youngest. Now here she was, destitute, on the brink of death and dying an unknown.

She drifted into a confused sleep; her mind provided distorted images from her past, from her imagination. She lost all sense of time, of being as she tumbled into her own world of darkness. Things didn't make sense, but then in life, things had rarely made sense.

Her head rested onto her shoulder, she fell into an un-easy sleep. Plagued by the nightmare that had been her mere existence, she begged for death to take her; never had death been offered a more willing victim and, slowly she began to fade, the spark that had been her life, doused for eternity.

On the floor of the empty, dark toilets she laid, an image of the disease that is humanity. Contrary to popular opinion, she didn't look asleep or at peace, she looked lost and her face captured a look of being trapped in her own personal hell. She was society's produce; she was the monster they created.

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