She is tired. She is so tired.

Drained is what she is. Pressure from work is crushing; so many patients from the war were admitted in the hospital this morning. Finally, she will be finding some peace and quiet in her flat.

Opening the door, she is met by darkness. Utter, complete darkness of the room. She stops by the door to take in the shadows and appreciate the silence of her place.

This, this is home, she thinks. She padded inside and opened the lights. She walked to her room, changed her clothes, took a shower, and sat by the kitchen table. Outside, near the fringes of her city, is war. In here is safety and quiet and certainty. In here she feels sane. She let herself drift in these thoughts for a while then drank water.

She was thirsty. She is always thirsty.

Then she went to her room and slept. This is her haven; here there is peace.