The silhouette of death sauntered into her being. The weightlessness of despair aroused her - the perennial desire to dance, drink and make merry never seemed enough to fill the void left by a life of absences. She nervously shifted her feet as she entertained a puerile thought - maybe this life of absences can only be assuaged with the very absence of life, her life. The life she was living was filled with nothing more but the anxieties society had left in her name. Man had achieved circular progression, moving on in arbitrary silence. Boredom, or ennui, left her disconcerted and unconcerned about her life, or that of another.
The door opened. Lust personified entered the chamber.
She entertained another thought - his last thought, his last tryst would fill her void and its absences. Her tool glistened behind her. She would derive no meaning from this.