Gabriella clenched her dress that was bundled in her fist, wrinkling the pleats.  The long dress dusted the floor clean.  It was an old dress that she had forgotten to hem and now she wore it as a house dress, cleaning counters and mopping floors.

The pain in her stomach was increasing.  The medicine wasn’t too far.  She stumbled in the dark with her free hand searching the air to prevent from bucking into something.  It’s been many times that she has walked into the kitchen.  She should have known it by heart.

The candle and lighter were somewhere on the table, but she felt nothing.  Maybe she had placed it next to the sink.  Two more steps were taken as she felt the counter.  Yes, it was there.  With her left hand she flicked the lighter, hoping it would catch a brilliant light for the candle.  It was after the fifth flicker that the candle was successfully glowing.

She placed the candle on the window sill.  It was worn out; left with less than a moment of wax to burn.  Where did she leave her medication?  All this trouble and she couldn’t find relief for her stomach.  The pain was increasing.  It felt like someone was punching her, making her heave.  There was nothing else to do but to reach for the sink.

It came out with each punch, a burst of vomit covering the dirty dishes.  It wasn’t something she ate recently.  It was a day old of red meat that was barely cooked and now had decided to present itself.  She promised never to return to that restaurant in the valley, where the lines to get in, circled the block.

The candle was at its last flicker.  Her stomach painfully let out the last bit of the rare meat.  It was the final severe punch that brought her down to the floor.

It was done.  Lights out; with watery, blurred vision trying to adjust in the darkness.  It was done.

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