The girl who counts her pills is one that frets about the temperature of each passing, breezy day because the thin veil of silk wrapped about her shoulders might not withstand it. She counts her one… two… threes like her life shall only depend on the end numeric of what is about to come upon her. If it's too low, then the girl will worry. What happens if she is asked to do a math problem and she doesn't have enough pills to work it out? What happens if the urge of that damned breeze overcomes her and she doesn't have enough pills to conquer its peak? If it is too high, then she worries she may die.

What happens if it is warm that day and the pills melt in her pockets? What happens if she has too many and the chemicals seep through her silk and into skin instead of her brain? She will no longer have any pills because she had too many and it was hot, and she forgot! She forgot to check the weather to see if it was hot outside and if there was a breeze. She counts her one…two…threes.

The girl who counts her pills is one that is unable to swallow foreign objects and yet here she is jamming them down and down. The girl who counts her pills is down. She sits down on the floor counting pills until she no longer can remember a time she felt a breeze after the process of her one…two…