She was a beautiful girl. Sick and twisted and burnt but beautiful. Our legs were intertwined on the hammock in my backyard and i was watching smoke lazily trail out of her mouth. It had been silent for a while, the only sounds the creaking of the ropes, which, thinking back on it now, was a bit haunting,. Suddenly she turned to me. "I don't even feel pain anymore," she whispered. I was high, a lot higher than her, and I couldn't think of anything merely intelligent to say that would make her feel better. As if to prove her statement, she lifted her shirt to expose her jutting hip bones. With one last drag, she took the joint and pressed it into her pale skin, her red eyes barely fluttering. "I don't feel anything at all," she said quietly, "except sad."