She looked out the window, darkness already swallowing her town.
Rain was falling, making she she had no peace.
The picture she drew, that damnable thing...
It wouldn't stop appearing.
A ripped open throat, revealing the spine, blood already long drained.
Scars covering every single inch of exposed skin.
One hand ripped away, the other replaced.
One foot, two toes missing.
The man in the drawing wasn't dead at all.
He couldn't talk, breathe... die.
He begged with his eyes, with his tears.
He was broken.
She felt that defeat with every second.
What do you do, when it's so tiring to think?