I hate this.
Kira thought to herself as she stared at the cars moving across the street from the window of her one room apartment. Her mind was blank, a rather saddening occurrence that was becoming far too frequent for comfort.
She stared down at the equally blank paper in front of her, twirling the pen in her hand as she frowned.
Being a writer was one of the few accomplishments she had made in life,if not the only accomplishment.
It was the comfort she had taken to relieve herself of the world's judgement, something she had received a more than fair share of throughout life.
She looked around the room which was pretty much the only thing she'd gained from writing.
What? She had never said she was successful.
The hardly enough for one mattress fitted in a corner of the room,worn down from use and a 3-inch long cut in the side where she hid her sparse valuables l, the books in a somewhat neat pile at the foot stand by the wall, the paint chipped and worn at several places and then finally the wooden table and chair sat by the only window where she was sitting presently were the only things she could boast of.
She'd rather not though.
The papers on the table were arranged in a haphazard manner and there were several crumpled balls of paper on the floor all around her, all testaments to her writer's block and the dead ends of the few strands of inspiration she'd clung to desperately.
She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated.
The other books she'd started were in a pile under the table, silently mocking her with their failure.
She sighed.
She needed fresh air. Her stomach growled. And maybe food.
She checked her wallet. The money was just enough for takeout. As she passed through the door, she felt that pang again, that sickening empty feeling clawing at her from inside, threatening to engulf her. Her ears rung and her eyes started to water.
She sucked in a breath and ignored it. It had started since she was little but had gotten far worse recently.
She dug her hands into the pocket of her coat and nuzzled into the scarf she'd grabbed from the bed previously.
It was winter already and she barely had enough scraped together to tide her through.
She was starting to consider hibernation.
She waited with the rest of the pedestrians for the walking sign to turn green. She was at the edge of the crowd; being too close to people gave her jitters.
She moved forward, the distance between her and the surging people slowly but subtly increasing as her mind sifted through the past happening of her life, zoning out.
Maybe that was why she didn't see the black sedan powering forward until her world went dark