The old woman sits in the fading light of the kitchen as nightfall prepares to take stage. She wonders at the silence… for it’s curious, really. There was a time when she would have sold her soul for a drop of quiet. But now its presence threatens to choke her.
The old woman sighs in resignation, and reaches for the address book she keeps beside the phone. Its pages, once overflowing with love and laughter, are now nothing more than a series of crossed out names. Time was cruel that way.
Finding the page she seeks, the woman uncaps her pen and draws a line through her last remaining friend.
And she waits for her turn.