She stayed in the closet because she was afraid of the light. Things were set in the light, but in the dark there were so many possibilities. When they would pull her out of the closet she would amble around for a little while, stare at her hands a few times, and eventually wander back into the closet. Back in her secluded sanctuary, she would look at her hand and wouldn’t see it. Therefore, in her mind, it might not be there. That idea thrilled her. But when they would drag her out again, she would see her hand and become annoyed by how real it was. The hand was there, unchanging, just a hand. Eventually, the annoyance turned to hatred, and the hatred to fear. She became afraid of the steadiness that light seemed to give to everything. Unlike the days when she would quietly surrender to the nurses and go back to the main room, she now screamed and clawed and did everything she could to get back into her closet.
In the closet, although logic told her that it was very small, with five shelves behind her holding various medical equipment and two old-fashioned brooms, it didn’t have to be true in the dark. She would sit there and stare at the hand she couldn’t see and imagine long talons. She imagined the four-by-four closet was miles wide. It wasn’t true, and she knew that, but it could be and that was why she liked it. Again, as time began to move on, the truth in light faded for her. Soon she did have long talons and would hide in an infinite, black abyss. Soon she had wings the size of football fields and hair that spilled for miles like a waterfall. Soon, her eyes wound around her head and things began to move in the darkness. These things would look at her and she wouldn’t see them, but she knew they were there because there was no reason they wouldn’t be. That is, until she was dragged back into the light.
© Copyright 2016 AStewartWriter. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Short Story / Flash Fiction
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