The sound of the doorbell pierced the silence encumbering the woman, motionless in her armchair, waiting. Reluctant to move, her brow creased and perspiration dripped from her face. Her shadow, faded in the weak light of corridor, was resolute and strong, despite the slight quiver.

Glancing over her shoulder, she grasped the brass doorknob, and breathed a large amount of air, like Marc Antony would have done before violently stabbing himself to end his life. The door creaked open, and there stood an exceptionally tall man, hunched from years of trying in vain to hide from his height. He smiled at her with his teeth, of which half were missing and a quarter encased in cheap gold.

She grabbed the package he offered her, a few tears trickling down her cheeks, red from deep emotion. Turning back into her house for the last time, she tucked the package under her right arm and marched with more bravery than the Dying Gladiator.