It was Portland and it was April and the sun was shining, a false cheerfulness as far as Roxana was concerned. Roxana's bitterness and cynicism were getting the better of her, and all Lyssa's activism and save the world rhetoric only made it worse. Nothing would change, certainly not for the better, they were all just fooling themselves. Roxana didn't care what statistics had to say or that they had turned the city on its head, although that certainly appealed to the iconoclast in her. But none of it would last. The strike would end, things would return to normal, and rape would become a daily threat again. Because how were they supposed to keep men from taking what they wanted if they really decided to insist on it? Roxana had no hope that men could be educated. Women perhaps, but not men. And educating women wouldn't stop rape.
Roxana closed the curtains and sat back down on her black leather sofa with her brandy. She didn't want to see the sun, it didn't fit her mood. She wanted everything dark, black, bleak, just like it really was.
Wasn't there a quick and easy way to get out of the whole mess? Roxana didn't have any guns, but that would have been an insult to her aesthetic principles anyway. Sleeping pills might have been an answer, but they took too long. She'd had a friend back in her housewife days who'd tried that route and only ended up having her stomach pumped. A jump was no good either--too messy. And she was too practiced a swimmer to jump from a bridge. She feared instinct would take over and she would achieve nothing more than a good soaking. She couldn't even slit her wrists--she hated the sight of blood. And she hated pain. If she were going to bring herself to do anything, it would have to be quick, very quick, and as close to painless as possible.
An electric shock, wouldn't that do the trick? You read stories all the time about hair dryers and things falling into bathtubs, and that was the end of that. But Roxana didn't want to be found naked. A hair dryer would be good, though, it wouldn't even be obvious that it was intentional. Roxana didn't want to cause anyone any guilt trips, she wasn't trying to get revenge. No melodramatic goodbye notes for her.
But how? What if she had a sink full of water, her hands in the water, and she threw the hair dryer in? Wouldn't that work? Wouldn't that be enough to put the lights out?
Or maybe her darkroom would be more appropriate. She enjoyed herself most there, felt fulfilled even. She could stage an accident, go out in the dark, and come out who knows where.