Karina

The front door clicks open, and for a brief moment there's silence — then a heavy thud echoes through the hallway.

Lying flat on her back on the cold apartment floor, Karina stares up at the ceiling with unfocused green eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her grocery bags have tumbled out of her grip, a carton of milk slowly rolling across the tile. Her red handbag is still tangled around her shoulder, one strap caught under her arm. Her 15cm high heels are still on, her black pantyhose visible beneath the hem of her black minirock. Her green blazer has ridden up, her white blouse untucked on one side, the yellow tie loosened and askew.

Her lips part, but no words come out — just a long, shaky exhale.

From the living room, the sound of footsteps approaching grows louder...