How long have I been asleep? She thought to herself. The fly buzzing in the corner of the room had woken her with its irritating noise. As she reached for the swatter she felt a twinge in her back. Amazing how parts break down against our will. No, not really amazing. Frustrating. After killing the fly she shuffled to the kitchen absently noting the clock said 4.30. She figured from the dim glow it was afternoon, but since she kept the shutters down and the curtains drawn she couldn’t be sure. Didn’t really matter anyway since one hour flowed into another, interspersed with moments of pain and hunger. Now was a hunger moment and so she pulled out some bread to toast, wondering how much longer she could go without shopping. Once a month was her goal; her limited foray into the world of light and people. The one block to the grocers seemed interminable and the people so chipper that she could barely stand it. People, for her, belonged behind a TV screen, a written page or in her memories where they could never hurt her again.

She wandered back to the chair and put her feet on the ottoman, sighing contentedly to herself and then wincing as a sharp pain went through her body. Her pillbox stood ready at her side and she popped a couple prescription painkillers and waited for the blessed numbness. It was the only comfort she had, that and the solitude. Dying was a lonely business, and after years of painful living she demanded that the world let her do it her way. And so the world swirled on outside, little knowing the person within. The ones who had cared--if they had, she thought--had died or been so thoroughly rebuffed that they stayed away. The rest ran their busy, colorful, bright lives of noise and people, only occasionally wondering who lived in the small, quiet bungalow at the end of the lane.