Isolation

Seventy-two hours alone. A new record. Perfect silence, stillness. The perfect environment in which to work, to reflect. She finished that new short story she had been working on. She organized her DVDs. Anything to escape the dark thoughts—but they came anyway. And she cried. And cried. She hated herself, hated herself for the life that had led to these thoughts, hated herself for having these thoughts in the first place. They brought her to the edge. Then they stopped. Ready to rejoin the world, she turned her phone back on. No one had texted to check on her.