Today was nothing special, nothing special at all. Grey rain streaked down the windows of this dreary Sunday. A figure was sat in the corner of ,in every way, an unremarkable room.
The walls were beige and the flooring was made up of tile print linoleum. Two of the walls were lined with work-surfaces and cupboards. The third was barely visible through a wall of boxes whilst the remaining wall had a dining table of a sort pushed up against it. The room was obviously a kitchen. Even a child could tell this as wedged between the cupboards was a oven, as well as there being a fridge. This kitchen could have been in any house on the whole of the earth and you would be none the wiser had the blinds been drawn.
However, while the room itself was as dull as watching paint dry, there was a figure who seemed to have no place there whatsoever. The person was slumped over the table, head in hands. Florescent pink tights were laddered and ripped as a memento of the night before.
Suddenly the person sat bolt upright. Panic lit up dark eyes. Standing up the figure ran to the sink and immediately began to retch. Mousey hair fell in front of sad eyes as tears ran down pale cheeks.