That of grey hounds.

She recognised this feeling.

The world is quiet here.

Acrid, burning, overwhelming, make it stop.

Did she do it again? That searing in her lungs, was it real?
Gravity tugs on her bones, and she feels cold, as if glaciers are pushing her down, pinning her in icy submission.

Pulverising agony, can't breathe, no air.

Her lungs won't expand; her eyelids are heavy, like lead weights are tied to her lashes. Her limbs refuse to move.

Tastes like a forest, but it burns, oh it burns.

The phone is ringing, but the high pitched shrieking is drowned by the incessant pounding of her heart in her ears. Is her chest going to explode?

Shattering glass, immobilised, god it hurts.

She concentrates on the inky blackness behind her eyes. It's warm, like fire, but she's so cold that she can't shiver. It's not winter. Did she sleep for that long? It was never this bad before. Maybe this time death almost claimed her. Why did God save her?

Pulled down, crushing weight, trembling.

She forces her eyes open, but nothing registers. Everything is hazy, unfocused. Bright white light blinds her, chases the tendrils of darkness away.

"It's time to leave."

Veins, blood, heart, nothing is beating.

Her fingers twitch; she flexes her hands, and now she's vaguely aware of a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. She can't think, can't coordinate her limbs to work with her head. Her head is throbbing.

The images printed on the backs of her eyelids are too blurry to make out, but she feels the memory of the pain all too well. It's dark now. How long has she been sleeping?

"I knew she'd do it again. She was never like this."

She knits her eyebrows together, grasping an imaginary rope with which to pull herself up. The cotton cord snaps, and she's falling again, through clinging black and frigid cold. She's always falling, even with two feet on the ground. It's never the same on the way down.

"Hide it for next time. We have to leave."

Why did the voices sound so loud? It was silent. Peaceful. The furry warmth within her stomach is dissipating to nothingness. Is she going to recover? Why did God want her to get better? She didn't deserve it. She never did.

"Oh, sweetie. One day, you'll understand."

What? What did she have to understand? What was it they were trying to tell her? Drill it into her skull, sew it onto her chest, carve it into her wrists. She had to know what they wanted.

"Her blood is like rubies.. she's so pale."
cold, beautiful silence, laced with white, white noise.

She's drifting through a sea of dark, perfect water. She entertains the idea of letting the waves swallow her completely. Death by water.

"Drowning terrifies her."

Fingers rake through her hair, gently, soothing burning skin. A lullaby meant only for her ears is broadcast for the world to hear. Why did they hate her? The ocean is swelling now, pregnant with furious desire.

no time to lose, let the silence take control.

The waves soak her skin, her hair, assault her eyes, her nose, her mouth. It distills the singing agents in her throat, her stomach. It's so peaceful.

"She never swam in the deep end."

It's quiet down here.

She embraces the darkness, and it envelops her, tendrils of relief tangling around her heart like barbed wire, but there isn't pain. Oh, but she adores the pain.

"Her breath is so still, so shallow..."

No need to breathe.

She's dying, but she's smiling. Was this what they wanted from her? Is this what they pressed her to understand? Such a sweet sacrifice.

"Darling, it's time to leave..."

She understands. Death is more soft than she'd imagined.

Smile.

The world is quiet here.