Seven hours before she decided to die, Nora was in free fall and she had no one to talk to.
Her last hope was her former best friend Izzy, who was over ten thousand miles away in Australia. And things had dried up between them too.
She took out her phone and sent Izzy a message.
Hi Izzy, long time no chat. Miss you, friend. Would be WONDROUS to catch up. X
She added another โXโ and sent it.
Within a minute, Izzy had seen the message. Nora waited in vain for three dots to appear.
She passed the cinema, where a new Ryan Bailey ๏ฌlm was playing tonight.
A corny cowboy-romcom calledย Last Chance Saloon.
Ryan Baileyโs face seemed to always knowย deep and signi๏ฌcant things. Nora had loved him ever since sheโd watched him play a brooding Plato in
๎ปe Atheniansย on TV, and since heโd said in an interview that heโd studied philosophy. Sheโd imagined them having deep conversations about Henry Davidย ๎ขoreau through a veil of steam in his West Hollywood hot tub.
โGo con๏ฌdently in the direction of your dreams,โย ๎ขoreau had said. โLive the life youโve imagined.โ
๎ขoreau had been her favourite philosopher to study. But who seriously goes con๏ฌdently in the direction of their dreams? Well, apart fromย ๎ขoreau. Heโd gone and lived in the woods, with no contact from the outside world, to just sit there and write and chop wood and ๏ฌsh. But life was probably simpler two centuries ago in Concord, Massachusetts, than modern life in Bedford, Bedfordshire.
Or maybe it wasnโt.
Maybe she was just really crap at it. At life.
Whole hours passed by. She wanted to have a purpose, something to give her a reason to exist. But she had nothing. Not even the small purpose of picking up Mr Banerjeeโs medication, as she had done that two days ago. She tried to give a homeless man some money but realised she had no money.
โCheer up, love, it might never happen,โ someone said.
Nothing ever did,ย she thought to herself.ย ๎ปat was the whole problem.
