Suicide

Throat tightens, vision blurs. A visible dent between the brows, muscles tense. Sitting here in a dimly-lit room, one merely sits in front of a laptop, watching her slowly lose the game to death. She’s in pain with no one there to help her. The soul becomes fragile…

…until it cuts her final breath. Her body is all they can find.

_______

Yet the game’s not over. A kind stranger sends her a message. And here, they quote another:

It will be alright in the end. If it’s not alright now, then it’s not the end.”

“Live on, stay strong.”

Words that may not mean much but means much more to her than the stranger expects. Feelings ripple, caressing her quivering soul. Slowly, she stands back up.

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