"Just breathing is exhausting" she muttered it under her breath, but I heard it. I can't say I was surprised, I would've heard those words regardless, she had them written on her face and all throughout her body. The way her bones cracked when she stood up, the way the whites of her eyes had been swapped out and tinged by a glazed over yellow. She moved like each finger lifted, each muscle contraction was oh so intricately planned but oh so poorly executed. All the color of her face was drained to an empty hollow grey. Nothing in her life had gone right. I couldn't blame her for pulling the trigger, I still can't, but I'll never stop blaming myself for teaching her how to hold the gun.