Something cold was in her smile. She had died long ago, and yet still, her heart beat on. It was, indeed, as if she was not truly smiling; her lips curled back, but there was absolutely no emotion behind it. She turned the gun in her hand again, looking at it.

She dropped it. It landed in the snow. She took a step closer to the edge of the bridge.

Indeed, she had nothing left to live for; she hated herself, and she couldn’t save herself from that murderous hatred. An intricate web of emotions, shattered in one instant.

She wanted the blissful peace of death, the endless silence, serenity, calamity that dying brought. She took another step closer. She was leaning over the railing now, looking down at the mostly-frozen river below her.

No, because nothing could save her now. Too far gone. No more time. She was long ago dead; the only life in her was physical, nothing more.

She had kept herself alive this far by cocaine, by marijuana, by morphine, by every drug in the world.

But no drug could save her from herself.

And so she threw herself over the railing.