Cocktail.

The harsh florescent lights shine, illuminating the image in the mirror. It’s unclear, distorted by my tears. The face it shows, so familiar, isn’t mine. Not anymore. The girl that once lived behind that face died, not such a long time ago- but long enough. The cold steel frame of the mirror pulls out underneath my shaking hand, revealing rows of bottles with various labels. Narcotics, pain relievers, cold and flu medicines… Grabbing a few bottles randomly, I walk out into the kitchen and pour their contents onto the table. How many will I need? How can I be sure I have enough? Oh, I’m so sick of this, I just want to get it over with. The cocktail spreads before me, and I have the pick of the lot. I’m not taking my chances. I’ve waited long enough. I scoop them all up and, one by one, pop them into my mouth, drowning them in water, and swallowing. I don’t know how long this will take. I hope there’s no pain. I walk to my bedroom, lay down on my bed and pull up the covers. “Goodnight,” I whisper, and I drift into my eternal slumber.