She died fifteen years ago and since then, every morning has been the same. Every morning she goes through the ritual that keeps her corpse from falling apart. She wakes just before sunrise, greeting the sun with complicated moves and stretches that kept the muscles firm and limber. She moves stiffly at first, forcing pretended life through her body. Eventually, her movements come more easily and she knows she has one more day. She sits in front of the mirror. Each day, anoth...

A bad habit: I have a hard time finishing ...

Trapped in my own room No one to see or to speak loneliness my friend