Her eyes flickered like a alarmed fire truck, on the go to save a life. He stole her wooden heart. The name of her love, carved deep in the center. Her fragile fingers convulse at the speed of the romance novel playing on her rewired satellite TV. Between her pointer and middle finger held a cigarette. In the left hand: a bottle of cheap wine she had bought for 8 euros from the store just across the street. Her hand fumbles down the side of her open apartment window. She scratches the gold paint on the walls as it chips off and falls to the ground. She wonders if she'll ever love again. The bed post is torn. The bits and pieces lay on the creamy white carpet from the night before. A plate with chicken sat on the nightstand. The room smell of torture, sex, and loneliness. Her clothes were tattered and wrinkled. The light in the room wasn't as bright as her fierce bright green eyes. She glares out the window looking down on those who are walking alone tonight. She flicks the cigarette from her hand and closes the cracked window. She takes deep, meaningful steps leading to the end of her bed where the blankets are smashed together. She glances at the clock: 12:49 AM. She takes a soothing sip of her red wine. Her lips pressed against the tip of the transparent cup. Her eyes flutter shut. She throws the cup at the TV and her heels take off. Her toes barley hanging on. Her body waves by the window and her arms flail like birds. Her face collides into the light green sheets. Her toes curl and her hands frostbite cold. Her chapped lips enlighten the slice missing from her bottom lip. The TV turns to static.