She spends her days meandering. Her helpless cynicism perceives almost everything around her as inane. Conversations and opinions, ideas and laughter, all seem unappealing. Then a time comes, as she is sighing through another banal, oppressive day, when a flurry of thoughts flit by her. The next thing she knows, she has declared them all inane. Her own thoughts, the very threads of sanity and stimulation that have strangely held her together, helped her stay afloat in this bubbling, vacuous existence; she now thinks them inane as well!
She held her step. The pit and the stair, both lay before her now.

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