A Slow-Acting Poison

Time. It takes you up and down and corkscrews like a rollercoaster that never ends. If you're lucky you'll come out no worse for the wear. If you're lucky.

Glorianne glared at the note she had just scribbled out. It sat there on the raggedy lined paper, silently staring back.

She was in another dressing room.

Dim lights, burgundy walls, wicker furniture. And those mirrors, the tall ones with the painfully bright lights. How she hated them.

Regardless, she went up to one and examined herself.

Grey hair. Tired eyes.

This was her last concert.

She readied her electric guitar.