She thought that her mother’s pain pills along with a bot­tle of wine would do it. Soon after her last gulp of the mer­lot, she felt queasy and dizzy. The vomit that spilled from her mouth twenty min­utes later was thin and sour. Frus­trated and tired, she put her­self to bed.

Dis­ap­point­ment filled her chest when she awoke. She spied the empty bot­tle of wine on her desk.

I can’t even kill myself correctly.

Trudg­ing to the kitchen, she sank into a chair. Her mother looked at her, then at her watch, then back at her again.

Which cereal do you want?” her mother asked, open­ing a cab­i­net. “Chee­rios? Frosted Flakes?”

She rubbed her fore­head and looked at the boxes.

Life,” she replied.