Part 5 - Hell hath no furyŠ

She woke to the pain, her hips, her nipples, her tailbone, and her mouth. Her mouth had a coppery, sulphur taste in it. She tried to sit up, but her hips would not support her. Something wet and viscous stuck to her hands. She sniffed at her hands and smelled blood. She looked around and at first saw nothing. Then the darkness grew less and she could make out shapes moving past her, stepping over her. At first she could only make out vague figures, then she recognised faces of famous and important people, she held up her bloody hands imploringly to them, but the walked past her or over her as if she were a pile of garbage.

Tears streaked her cheeks as the faces of those ignoring her became familiar. And the looks upon their faces were not ones of unconcern but those of distain. Friends and family stalked past her or purposely kicked at her, cursing her and spitting on her. Then lovers and confidants clustered about her, pouring vitriol and abuse upon her. The taunting and slurs abrading her ears, causing her to duck her head and cry. When she looked up again, she was surrounded by aspects of herself and loved ones who had died.

The condemnations in their eyes were daggers in her soul and she cried out. And as she did so the light faded and she cried out as even that little stimulus faded from her senses. She sat alone in the dark, the dark, unhappy thoughts of a wasted life her only companions. And as despair enveloped her soul, she fell into the darkest and most dismal depths of the abyss.