Writing Prompt: "It was nothing I couldn't handle." She said while trying to hold back the tears.

"It was nothing I couldn't handle." She said while trying to hold back the tears. She kept thinking about the sleeping pills strewn over the comforter, it was the only idea that comforted her as it clashed with memories of the other apartment. In the other apartment blood ran from the bathroom wall down into the vents, pooling across the linoleum, a gun in her hands with a pillow duct-taped over the barrel while the AC pumped out cold air and loud noise. There were sirens outside but they sounded more like fire engines than police. The cell phone that she was talking into was dead, and in the morning the heads of journalists would spin before they had coffee in their systems, and in a week the comforter would be changed.

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