Dark binds against the windows like sap on a tree. And like sap, it seems to cry from some innocent wound that slowly heals with bitter light, sealed by the scar of the red impending dawn. But till then there is the bed that cradles fantasies and terror that echoes against the dark.
She stared at the cross hatching pattern of her pillow trying to avert her free falling thoughts away from the dark. Because it wasn’t darkness, it was the night; same as the wind isn’t a friend but an element. How much she wished that the night could just throw off it’s melancholy act and become the day. She started to shake, first inside because the “thoughts” came from inside. No...thoughts is what she called it to the people who have asked aloud. They were memories, memories of dreams that have appeared and woken from. Dreams that have assaulted their meaning with icy scenes of lonesome waters, and the dagger pain of furious shadows, scorching the emerald grasses of her once serene visions.
The shadows would stay till the following day, shifting at the corner of her eye until she again laid on her worldly bed and watched as the shadows paled against the dark of the night. She was very afraid. Until the morning.
- Elizah Scared
- Elizah Scared
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