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.