Her eyes opened while her body was stiffly lying on the bed.

She did not look around because she knew everything here and she was sure nothing had changed.

Just like nothing had changed last night.

Or the night before.

She lay, knowing that the bed was her place to be in.

Where she was meant to be in.

The place she was most comfortable at.

She did not want to leave the comfort. She did not have the energy to fight anything that was out of comfort.

She lay and lay.

Secretly, she wanted someone to get her out of the bed.

Why did she have to get out by herself all the time?

Why was there no one to help her?

But again, no one came.

She lay and lay.

Still no one.

She closed her eyes and wanted to go back to sleep. Then, at least, she would not be waiting for someone to come. She would not feel or think of anything.

Her eyes closed but her brain did not.

And she lay and lay like that.

She would lie like that forever if she did not have this smallest, tiniest joy for life hidden somewhere in her being. The little flame of joy that somehow stayed hidden in her all through her life.

That joy helped her get up and do her work today again. Until the next night.

Next night: repeat again. Until forever.