Bleak (fiction)

Standing looking out of her third floor window on to the communal car park down below she felt something wasn’t quite right.

It was black outside. Cold. But she could still make out the pools of rain slightly shifting the reflection of the moon. The refuse bags were awaiting their early morning arrival of the mechanised monsters to gorge themselves on the decadence waste of others. Something was amiss.

As her gaze slowly withdrew back through the windowpane to close the curtains she suddenly caught sight of herself reflected and realised what it was. She had nobody to turn to and tell them she loved them. Her fear of telling people she loved them meant that she would never have someone to tell them she loved them.