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"That's wrong." She points to something I had written earlier on era piece of paper, the cigarette left eternally lit between her index and middle finger. I ignore her hand and continue writing. "I'll fix it later," I mutter under my breath, my words a whisper.

She shakes her head slightly and sits up on the desk, her cocktail dress showing off too much thigh than I would prefer. She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows it in my direction, just to spite me I know. I pause to wave it away and return to writing. When I fail to say anything else, she leans towards me.

"You know, I don't see why you keep this game up. I mean, you don't really care about your work. All you care about is your writing." She almost growls out that last word in her otherwise perplexed statements, trying to catch my attention. I don't look at her and keep writing, trying to ignore her and failing in that aspect. "But you know as well as anyone that that won't get you anywhere. I mean, you can't even win a high school award." She gives a sharp laugh, and I still try to ignore her. I had tried to fight her before, with failed results.

She leans over to me, one hand now on the desk. I stop writing, looking down at the desk. "There's no real point for you to keep going on with this game. You've been going on too long, and if you cave now, you'll only end up feeling worse:" She leans back, listing off her words with her hand. "You'll feel disappointed, failed, depressed, alone…" She leans back to me only slightly, not nearly as close as before. "You'll feel like you failed at the one thing you had to do, and you know that no one will be there to help you back up. Because they have their own problems. And that's why you don't tell anyone what's wrong. That's why this is getting pointless." She swings her legs up on the desk and lies down next to me, her head propped up by her arms looking at me with a malicious, pristine look. "It's easier now if you just grab that bottle of aspirin and end it. That way, you won't have to leave knowing you disappointed someone. And isn't that what you want? To know that you made someone happy? Even if you only crushed their joy by your death? At least then you won't have to worry about how they feel about your death; you'll be dead! It's not like you'd be able to feel it anyway.

"And we both know you're amazed by death. That you're amazed with afterlife. That you would do anything to find out what happens when you're gone. Sure the world keeps turning, but what about you?" It takes all of my willpower not to look at her. "You know you want to find out. You option is on that desk over there. All you have to do is get up, down it and go to sleep. No pain, no final thoughts, no nothing. Numbness. Bliss. Ignorance. Everything you want in death. It's there," she lowers her arms and cocks her head sideways to sneak a peek at my face. "Why not try it?"

Minutes pass, and my hands goes back to writing. She scowls, narrowing her eyes, and sits back up and gets off the desk, walking away with her red pumps clacking against the marble flooring. "Whatever you want kid," She takes another drag of her cigarette and blows it away. "Whatever you want."

Description
"That's wrong." She points to something I had written earlier on era piece of paper, the cigarette left eternally lit between her index and middle finger. I ignore her hand and continue writing. "I'll fix it later," I mutter under my breath, my words a whisper.

She shakes her head slightly and sits up on the desk, her cocktail dress showing off too much thigh than I would prefer. She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows it in my direction, just to spite me I know. I pause to wave it away and return to writing. When I fail to say anything else, she leans towards me.

"You know, I don't see why you keep this game up. I mean, you don't really care about your work. All you care about is your writing." She almost growls out that last word in her otherwise perplexed statements, trying to catch my attention. I don't look at her and keep writing, trying to ignore her and failing in that aspect. "But you know as well as anyone that that won't get you anywhere. I mean, you can't even win a high school award." She gives a sharp laugh, and I still try to ignore her. I had tried to fight her before, with failed results.

She leans over to me, one hand now on the desk. I stop writing, looking down at the desk. "There's no real point for you to keep going on with this game. You've been going on too long, and if you cave now, you'll only end up feeling worse:" She leans back, listing off her words with her hand. "You'll feel disappointed, failed, depressed, alone…" She leans back to me only slightly, not nearly as close as before. "You'll feel like you failed at the one thing you had to do, and you know that no one will be there to help you back up. Because they have their own problems. And that's why you don't tell anyone what's wrong. That's why this is getting pointless." She swings her legs up on the desk and lies down next to me, her head propped up by her arms looking at me with a malicious, pristine look. "It's easier now if you just grab that bottle of aspirin and end it. That way, you won't have to leave knowing you disappointed someone. And isn't that what you want? To know that you made someone happy? Even if you only crushed their joy by your death? At least then you won't have to worry about how they feel about your death; you'll be dead! It's not like you'd be able to feel it anyway.

"And we both know you're amazed by death. That you're amazed with afterlife. That you would do anything to find out what happens when you're gone. Sure the world keeps turning, but what about you?" It takes all of my willpower not to look at her. "You know you want to find out. You option is on that desk over there. All you have to do is get up, down it and go to sleep. No pain, no final thoughts, no nothing. Numbness. Bliss. Ignorance. Everything you want in death. It's there," she lowers her arms and cocks her head sideways to sneak a peek at my face. "Why not try it?"

Minutes pass, and my hands goes back to writing. She scowls, narrowing her eyes, and sits back up and gets off the desk, walking away with her red pumps clacking against the marble flooring. "Whatever you want kid," She takes another drag of her cigarette and blows it away. "Whatever you want."