Angelica couldn't see a thing without her glasses, but it didn't matter. She was blinded by tears as an usher led her to the door and hailed a cab. She was able to choke out the name of her hotel, and the driver tried to comfort her as she rested her head against the glass. It was no use; she was inconsolable. When she arrived at the Mayflower, the doorman motioned to a bellhop and asked him to escort Angelica to her room. When they arrived upstairs, Angelica fumbled around her evening bag for a tip and shoved a five dollar bill in the bellhop's hand. He tried to refuse it, but Angelica ignored him by shutting the door in his face. She stumbled over to the big, square, blurry mass in the center of the room, and threw herself on top of it. She sank down into the comforter, and sobbed.

Hyperbole was dead.

Hyperbole was dead, and she was alone.

Hy was just a kitten when Angelica found her late in the cold and rainy autumn night. They were both soaked; the kitten from being abandoned by someone too lazy to find her a good home, and Angelica from wandering the rain in shock. It had been some twenty-fifth birthday party; her so-called boyfriend deciding her birthday party was the perfect time to announce to their mutual friends he was getting married - but not to her. Angelica managed a brave smile as she wished him her heartiest congratulations, choked down a tumbler full of gin, and ran outside for some air.

She didn't have to see the looks of pity on her friends' faces to know they were there.

She wandered the city streets in nothing but a T-shirt and jeans, not really seeing what was in front of her or behind her. She didn't feel the cold; she didn't feel her body shake from it. She didn't feel anything at all.

It was the tiny, mewing noise that made her stop.

Hy was so cold when she found her that she could see her little body tremble and shake with the cold. Angelica picked her up completely out of instinct, and held her close to her. She didn't know if she was warm enough to warm the tiny creature, but after a few minutes, the abandoned kitten stopped shaking, and began to purr. It was in this moment of kindness that Angelica discovered something.

Angelica discovered unconditional love did exist, even in the face of deepest cruelty.

And now that love was gone.

When Angelica grew too tired to cry, she sat up. She sat on the bed in the darkened room listening to the muffled sounds of the street and the heavy sighing of her soul. She felt empty; she felt lost. Then, after a while, she felt the tiny spark of another emotion.

Anger.

"You know whose fault this is; it's that bitch boss of yours...."

Angelica dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered her mind, but it echoed again through her head.

"You should have been there with Hy, Angelica, and you know it. But that bitch boss made you come down here on this idiotic presentation. If the client was that damned important, why couldn't she put her ass on the train? Why couldn't she put her ass on the line?"

Angelica stood up, and felt her way in the dark to the bathroom. She turned on the light, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face to clear her head.

"Why are you doing this, Angelica? You're a writer; not some sycophant who needs to lick somebody's ass to find out what success tastes like. You're a writer, damnit!"

"I'm a writer," Angelica said aloud.

Angelica put her contacts in and, amazingly, her eyes did not reject them. Now able to see clearly for the first time in hours, she left the bathroom and turned on all the lights in the room. She found her suitcase, rooting through it like a dog looking for a buried bone. After a few minutes, she found it.

Her journal.

Writing was the only constant other than Hyperbole that kept her grounded; it was her anchor as well as her kite, the thing she did whether she was happy or sad, joyous or mad. She wrote when she didn't know what else she could do, and that was what she would do now.

Angelica walked over to the desk, and sat down. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she opened her journal and began to write.