She was dying so slowly from the poison that she never even felt ill. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she had never felt well but she just didn’t have a point of reference.
If one is always in the darkness do they miss the light? Even if they’ve never experienced it?
Yes, yes they do. She had dreams and fantasies of course but never the energy to even attempt them. Her imagination was the only part of her that was truly alive and reading fueled her.
She at the moment was living a stationary life, too weak and limp to even get herself out of bed. But in her mind she was hiking up mountain trails, riding wild horses and visiting big cities with immense skyscrapers she only ever read about.
She heard the comings and goings in the rest of the house and wanted to know what was happening, maybe even be included for once and she tried to call out but found herself too hoarse to manage more than a whisper. A voice fades from lack of use.
She once again found comfort by carefully unfolding the tattered and yellowed piece of stationery that she always kept on her. Within its creases she spied the tiny pill, its presence reassuring. She still had some control and when she was ready she would go on her own terms.