This just came to me, as I am feeling a little low myself, so I thought I'd get it out as a form of self-therapy!



Life seemed to move at a pace different to her; it swept around her, jostling her as she moved onwards, head down to withstand the wind of rushing time. She was lonely; inside she ached for something, anything, to fill the void in her chest. At night she would cry; the tears would form and slide slowly down her cold cheek, lacking any energy. She didn't have any left. She felt restless, slept little. She struggled finding things to do to pass the days, to make life hold some structure, substance--Meaning.

Cloud was god knows where. Vincent was in Midgar, Barret in Coral; all her friends were scattered around the globe. It didn't matter than she could hop onto a train for a few hours and be around them; around people she was familiar with. She felt removed from everything recently. She tried not to leave her house, situated a short walk from the Junon harbour, except for the occasional reflective walk along the beach. Nothing seemed real; people's rudeness and ignorance incensed her. She couldn't face them.

Men showed interest in her, but she gave them little cause to pursue it. More than once she was tempted to just say yes to a date, in the hope that she could make herself feel a little more human again. But it never seemed to work out. They just didn't understand her, didn't find her as interesting after one or two dates. They gave up on her eventually; though she had given up on herself long before they had. All they seemed to want was sex, and though some days she wanted that too, so much sometimes it scared her, so much she could scream, she couldn't bring herself to just give herself over to it. She knew she would come to regret it.

She wondered about what she could do; there had to be something surely, to rid her of the sense of uselessness, the sense that she was suspended in flux; on a train, unsure where her stop actually was.

One evening found her, as usual, sat reading a book she had probably read a dozen times before, a glass of wine in reach. Perhaps if she finished the bottle she could get some sleep tonight. Then she wouldn't spend hours working herself into a mental tangle, leaving her wide awake and frustrated.

Then the phone rang.