She sat motionless, waiting for her thoughts to resolve themselves, not even daring to hope for the best possible outcome.
Dead. The word stirred within her, grasping her soul and silencing any protest before it could be conceived.
Her eyelids drooped, and she felt her mind drift from reality into the dark, empty void of things hypothetical. She saw a life not her own, a voice in her head, living for her, before she interrupted the daydream with its own utter pointlessness, thinking, if I could just get up, I'd kill myself now. A slight fear swept through her. How serious am I about this? she wondered for the twentieth time that day.
Her mind felt numb. I'm a broken record. The thought faded slowly into silence, making her drowsy, the stillness whispering its haunting lullaby. Just go to sleep, and tomorrow you can die. She didn't let the fear return, resting in the feeling that all would be put right, that the world would be a better place, and that tomorrow she would have the strength to make it happen, by killing herself.
They don't need me. I'm in the way. The phrases repeated themselves over and over, causing a grim, satisfied smile to cross her face. Yes, this is right.
"I'm dead," she murmured, letting a small laugh escape her lips, like that of a child unaware that the kind stranger means to kill.