Whisky Galore, by Emma Baird

The light streaming in through the thin curtains did not disturb the room’s incumbent, immobile under the duvet.
An empty whisky bottle, lying on its side, lent the room a perfumed air which battled with the underlying staleness.
At the door, Tanya sighed to herself. Dead to the world then. Same old, same old.
A flash of foil caught her eye and she stopped to pick it up – an empty blister pack with all the pills popped out.
Not same old then. Just dead.