She lies on the white bed in the white room. She has succeeded in her goals. She can no longer feel, thoughts aren't racing in circles around her mind. She stares at the ceiling, as the instruments around her beep at regular intervals. Two people enter the closet like room where what was once their bright loving daughter is now stored away. Grey are their faces as they attempt to communicate with the empty shell. As they wonder again how it got to this point with out them noticing the worn lady breaks down, leaning on her husband as she starts to collapse. He has the strength to guide her to the one chair in the room before he falters himself. He slides to the floor, staring at the bed. The emotionless mask is foreign to him. What was his daughter is now unrecognizable. The woman almost envies the apathy of the figure on the bed. Untouched by her surroundings she merely exists. She has escaped.