Soft light bruises. She gulps saliva. Ineffective. Takes a glass of water, guzzles.

One-two-three deep breaths. She falls over bed again. Gazes through glass. Tarred translucent clouds sliding over red moon. Twists and turns.

Looks at her cellphone. No call, miscall, message. Opens window. Fresh air, chirping birds. The dawn.


Note: Written for writing challenge Fifty