Day Three

Silence fell over her like a second skin, drawn tight and stretched wide across her breast, and tauter with every cringing second. Second by miserable second, time retreated, dragging her consciousness of it with it.

No longer hunger.

The waiting.

Waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for the next faint spurt of hope.

Waiting for the door to open, to find it wouldn't.

Her belly had quit pleading, asking for food. It had given up the need, the place where dwelt. No ...