[ WP ] You realize that the bottle of pills you took in an effort to commit suicide was expired .

Each pill's like an individual bubble in a roll of bubble wrap. Pop a pill, pop a bubble. Pop a bubble, pop a pill. That rush of relief with each burst. A time slip with a simple swallow. Move down the line, onto the next row. Repeat. No handfuls at a time, no. This needs to be precise. Typewriter fashion, corn on the cob efficiency. 
 The pain's subsiding. It is n't as bad as it was yesterday. Keep going. 
 
 I've lost count but the bottle's still heavy in my hand.. I count what's left, each pill serving as both refuge and reminder of premeditated agony. The bubbles are popping less frequently now. Unintentionally, I've begun to savor the bitterness salvaging any lurking doubt. Again. 
 
 Dispassionately, I cast a glance at the bottle. Exp 08/12. 
 I return it to the shelf and stumble out of the bathroom. I'll finish the bottle tomorrow, but eventually I'll have to buy another box of these.
