She sat up in bed with pillows banked behind her frail shoulders. Sleep being a rare commodity, she turned nightly to literature to divert her mind from the pointlessness of being nearly a century old.
As the clock began to toll the end of yet another interminable year, her eyes tired so she closed them, and for a moment was young again. She thought herself standing at the foot of a bright staircase with nothing to do but lightly climb to where her lover waited.
As the twelfth note of the tocsin sounded she dropped lightly into her last sleep…
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