The Final Attempt

No one knows why she did it. The ambulance responded immediately to her desperate 911 call. They had to break down the door to her apartment. She lay on the bed, her breathing shallow, beads of sweat forming on her upper lip. The paramedics tried to keep her upright while they slipped the oxygen mask over her mouth and nose but her body was limp and she kept falling back onto the bed. Her blood pressure was dropping quickly.

They found the bottle of Trazadone on the kitchen counter but had no idea how many she had taken. According to the prescription bottle, the number of pills was all wrong and the date had expired some months back. There were pills scattered on the counter and some had fallen to the floor. 

When they tried to question her, her response time was slow and her mumblings were difficult to comprehend. They thought they heard her say something about not letting her cat out.

The neighbors of the apartment complex gathered outside, as they always did when something tragic happened. When her limp body was lifted onto the stretcher and wheeled outside to the waiting ambulance, the neighbors just shook their heads and wandered back inside to their dinners and television shows. There would be plenty of time to gossip in the morning.

The driver of the ambulance kicked on the siren as they raced from the parking lot, the deafening scream piercing the quiet of the night. He stepped onto the gas pedal and raced toward the hospital. On the way, the paramedics in the back of the ambulance kept calling out to the girl and shaking her shoulders to keep her alert. They knew if they left her alone, tomorrow would never come for Grace Hume.

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