Obitus

things play out more satisfactory in ones imagination

She slammed the door as she ran from the room, the noise in her head growing louder as she sprinted down the corrider. In 3 steps she made it down the stairs and was careening for the door. The noise in her head grew ever louder in its keening, and she suddenly realized that it was partially because, she too, had begun to screech. Mewling and sobbing, she threw herself out the front door and into the harsh daylight. Three more leaping bounds and she was in the street in front of the house, perfectly timed. As the screeching of brakes drowned out the noise in her head, she felt her body sailing through the air. She could see her face reflected on the windshield, overlaying that of the drivers horrified look. In stark contrast to the face hers overlay, she saw herself smiling, no, laughing, even as the tears still glittered on her cheeks. Then both laughing faces met, and the pain shivered through her like a million bright needles, but still she laughed. This pain blotted all other pain from existance. So still she laughed, even as the needles turned to swords, and the darkness crept in. After, as she lay smiling and still, bathed in red and blue light, there was no trace of the tears on her cheeks, only the sparkle of a million tiny shards of pale blue glass.