64

Dreary day. The sun was screaming at her, the clouds were chuckling innocently, hiding behind their fluffed coats. Something grey permeated, despite the bright, despite the birds' melodious chirping. She began to think the grey was on her, covering her like a pair of sunglasses, blocking out the beautiful.

No.

Perhaps the grey was in her, drumming gently at her skull, stretching its arms through her intestines.