Dark shadows filled the room, what little light penetrated the thicket seemed to splatter itself randomly across the wooden floor. The wallpaper was peeling, patches riddled the wall, revealing the antiquated layer of blueish paint that once decorated her humble abode.
She had awoken to an empty bottle of vicodin and a quarter of vodka, she would soon be ripping thru every drawer and shelf trying to piece together something strong enough to get her thru the day. For now, she just rested. Her face seemed to be smothered into the floor, wrinkling up enough to prevent any decent vision from her left eye. She felt a tingling sensation in her feet but payed little attention to anything save the window. Her reflection stared back, an echo of the beauty that once glided across runways. She weighed 103 pounds, twenty less then in her prime. She was nothing more then a bag of bones, consumed by addiction and disease. She found herself in awe of the reflection, the echo in the window.