She started to fade on Saturday, and she frowned at the hand she used to write the note that no one would read. “Goodbye, my friends,” it read, “for soon I will become nonexistent to you all, I’m sure.” Perhaps a tad melodramatic, she knew her friends would stand by her. Well, maybe not in the metaphorical sense. Physically they would, but metaphorically, she felt it would be a more difficult task. The more she wrote, the faster she faded, which upset her a little, but she was slowly accepting what appeared to be her fate. The pen laid across the paper and she sat and stared at her hands. Watching as an invisible razor shaved her away from visibility.
She found no comfort in the fact that drumming the table with her fingers still produced noise that no one could hear. The lawyer packed up his things. The doctor walked out of the room. She screamed a scream no one would hear. She felt so silly for locking herself in without bringing the key.