Such morbid frustration over something so trivial, 'how could this happen' she thought with despair no matter how hard she tried.

The world just shoved shit in her face.

And those few lines of Pink Floyd sung in the high pitched, but catchy voice still echoed through her head.

'Take me home

take me home

take me home

oooo'

She was in the it pretty deep "seventh or eight day with sleep and the little fucking VCR clock was driving her crazy.

She brushed a black bang from her forehead and cradled her mug of coffee watching neon green VCR clock.

'Take me home

take me home

take me home'

The last few days had just been a escalation of wok and failure, and during this continuing of stress and awful, cyclic steady agony she found herself beginning to like pain not in a sexual way, and she certainly didn't consider herself a masochist, but as of recently a little blunt trauma to the jaw or quick jab in the crotch seemed appropriate.

Because it served her right,

'Take me home'

for being so stupid,

'Take me home'

the only downfall

'Take me home'

was the possibility of ruining her looks which she was rather proud of.

A beautiful complexion, black hair, and stunning hazel eyes complimented her body. Which was shapely, but not over so, beautiful, but not seductive.

She considered herself to look very well, and the people she had met before her turn of madness seemed to have felt the same way.

Instead of having the typical physical downfalls, too fat, too skinny, she had a large purple bruise swelling up nastily on her left cheek along the jaw line.

She looked in the mirror on her wall then turned back to her cooling coffee, which she gulped down.

She needed a walk to clear her mind that throbbed and pulsed horrendously.

She stumbled out the back door and strode down the dimly light street.

The street lights illuminating the mist eerily. She had become quite accustomed to walking at night.

She heard a sound on the street a dull clopping sound, like the steady trot of a horse.

She remembered when she was a little girl petting her uncle's horse on his ranch.

"Do you love me Sunshine?" She had questioned the silent creature.

And her uncle had approached he smelled strongly of alcohol and a more pungent aroma.

Her uncle was the typical stereotype cowboy and drunk off his ass at that. He had laid a heavy calloused hand on her shoulder.

"No honey, sunshine can't love you," He had said he breath smelling like beer. "Sunshine's just a fucking animal."

And now out in some urban street she saw a horse, it vaguely resembled Sunshine and atop it rode a man. A man in rather elaborate dress, he wore a cloth circlet that had two stag horns tied in it. The man also wore a leather tunic and forest green cloak.

The figure stopped under a street light and beckoned for her to move towards it.

She walked amazed not knowing what she was doing.

She stopped next to the horse and looked up in awe at the man. He turned to face her. His face was forlorn with age and seemed as if his chalky grey skin barely hung onto his high cheek bones.

"I am the Lord of the Forest," he said," I can help you with your problem." His voice sounded the equivalent of wind rushing through a tunnel.

He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small vial with a deep red liquid in it.

"Do exactly as I say." He addressed her, staring at her with milky white eyes.

" Go into the woods behind your abode, and strip down, then take this vial, and rub it on every inch of your skin, then place this pelt about your shoulders."

He unrolled a grey wolf's pelt from eh back of his horse and handed it to her.

"Good luck." He rasped, then he and his horse were gone, leaving no trace of their existence.

She looked puzzled at the street.

'Great, now I am hallucinating,' she thought, but the cool glass vial in her hand, and the pelt draped over arm told her differently.