Boy, she was troubled all day. She was obviously in a mood. Her emotion wore her down and nothing could cure the grief. There are some bad days and there are some good days. Can’t we all just have good days? Obviously not, too many things are in the way of a perfectly good day, especially on a Monday. She doesn’t know jack shit about keeping it together anymore. Her flatmates greeted her while she mumbled ignorantly. “What’s with the look? Your husband just died? Or did you get raped?” “Can’t you fucking tell that I’m not in the fucking mood? Can’t you just get the fuck out of here?” This conversation happened in the kitchen and she kicked her flatmates out of that common place. They could only get out of the kitchen trying to understand what just happened before the door was slammed. No one really wanted to deal with her mercurial temperament at that point. They thought, let her burn the kitchen herself. This was a bad day and she was wearing its heavy boots all day. But let me tell you, this meant absolutely nothing; a pointless mercurial temperament that would lead to nowhere but some sour tears. Staring at the boiling water on the stove, she felt really sorry and sad for one of her friends and the situation she was facing. She was praying for her. These heavy boots were nothing compared to it. Everything will be OK, right? She was praying once more, and again, and again until the pan ran out of the boiling water.