Her body was battered. Any form of liquid within her circulation was stained red. It was pouring out from within her - profusely, incessantly. It overflowed out of wounds and inundated every crevice of her aching body.

She was dying.

The surface of her body was bruised. There were wounds that ran deeper than medicine could fix. Others were in the process of forming. She was weeping with a wail that could be heard loud and clear.

Her children sat watching idly.

One was ignorant, one in denial. One was oblivious. One was vigilant, observing silently.

Her dying body had spectators.

Slowly, parts of her started to lie still while others were in the process of following suit.

The continents came crashing down. The waves inside her wrecked the land she held. The jolts of her body sent earthquakes down the entire room.

Her children were disturbed for a while, but soon, they carried on with their routine. For them - it isn't over till it's over.

So she closed her eyes and let her body die. She gave up. She felt parts of her crash and burn. It was the end. It was time to go.