Torture

Some would call it a soft torture. Being with him was like always being wrong, as if built into the moment, part of his company. Something always needed his correcting, or criticism, or scorn.

It had all worn her down. She felt old at 29, tired, waking up alone. He's left to drive his dump truck, most mornings same routine, he has his own rig. She felt dead.

Sure, the major organs were still working okay, but that was all- the rest was dark room, bare wall. Years of the same day flying past her mind, like a loop of grainy reel repeating into a clownish infinity.