"Edward Bryant - Flirting With Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bryant Edward)

EDWARD BRYANT

FLIRTING WITH DEATH

Linda picked up the plastic vial again, turned it over and over in her hand,
listening to the silence. She'd packed the container too full of capsules for
there to be any rattle. That effect pleased her. Again she read the cautions on
the label. Linda twisted the child-proof cap until both arrows lined up, tried
to thumb the cap off, broke her nail instead. She set the vial down beside the
sink a little too hard and rubbed the ragged rim of nail against her index
finger. Linda started to reach for the emery board in the zippered case by the
sink, then hesitated. Why bother?

If she was going to die, it didn't really matter if she looked perfect, though
she suddenly remembered her mother's long-ago admonitions about clean slipped
between compressed lips sounded more to her own ears like a whimper.

And if she didn't die, there was no one to impress, so why bother? She
remembered her mother's strong opinions again. Her mother had desired her to
meet and marry a doctor. Linda didn't know at this point whether she wanted to
laugh or to cry.

She gave the vial an impatient tap on the faux marble. The cap popped free and
red capsules pattered across the sink. Several bounced off the toilet ring and
into the electric blue water. Linda thought she could see them start immediately
to expand like the gel-packed sponge dinosaurs she had once bought for her
nephew's seventh birthday.

This was sordid. It took away even more from the mood, and her sense of resolve.
Resignedly, she got down on her knees and picked up every capsule she could
find. In the comer, three robust ants tried to make off with one of the
capsules. She shook them free and scooted the trio toward the baseboard with a
piece of Kleenex. Maybe they were depressed too. She thought about mutual pacts,
this time couldn't stop herself from giggling, looked for the rest of the
capsules. The ants wandered away into the corner. Linda flushed the toilet. The
dry capsules went back into the vial and she replaced the cap with a positive
click.

Another time, perhaps. She had enough capsules, even without the ones that had
swirled down the toilet. If she were patient, she could even wait until the
prescription was again refilled. She knew full well her doctor would do that.

But in the meantime . . .

Linda walked tiredly into the living room, flipped on the radio by the faded
couch, heard the first notes of a love song she particularly hated, twisted the
dial looking for a heavy metal station. Or rap. Or even country. She found none
of those among the intermittent cascades of static. All that seemed to be on the