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After an eternity she tries to rise. When was it that she had slunk and crouched on the tiles like a haggard waif? Black crows fly down to feast on her eyes. Trembling, her body summons its strength to stand against the swirling mass around her. A long strand of hair falls across her face. She does not bother to brush it back. Instead it stays there like a fly stuck in ointment, strands glued to her tear stained face. Steadying herself on the kitchen bench she edges her way toward the sink to fill a glass of water. Breathe Lisa! Her troubled mind instructs.
