In The Dead of Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
In the dead of night she sits in her bedroom.
Alone.
Alert.
Awake.
Always awake.
Never, ever asleep.

Submitted: October 22, 2013

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Submitted: October 22, 2013

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In the dead of the night, she sits alone in her bedroom, her curtains drawn, only the eerie light of the pale frosty moon shining through, casting a glow in her room. Sometimes she looks outside the window, drawing her curtains slightly ajar to gaze at the brilliant stars, twinkling in the dark sky, and every now and then a dark cloud moves in to hide the moon, the glow in her room vanishing and replaced by a silent darkness, but it always move aside eventually, the moon lighting up her room again. She especially loves to watch the skies when a storm is brewing. She loves seeing the lightning crackle through the sky, the dark ominous clouds swirling around and casting a shadow onto the grounds below. She loves hearing the rumble of thunder in the distance, merely a stomp of a giants foot from miles away, but clattering pots and pans when it's footsteps away. She loves watching the streets sparkle after a heavy downpour, with tiny rivers along the sidewalks rushing down the street, the trickles and raindrops shining in the streetlights, illuminating the entire road.
She watches the skies often.
But sometimes, when she doesn't watch the sky, she sits in her bed, staring at the ceiling above her, and she thinks. 
She just sits there, leaned up on the cool smooth surface of the wall, her hands constantly playing with her covers and sheets or sometimes just fidgeting, making imaginary shadow puppets that aren't even there.
She can sit there for hours and hours and think about every possible screwed up thing in her life.
But sometimes, she doesn't want to think.
So she lies down on her bed, but does not rest. She closes her eyes, but she does not sleep, does not surrender to the swirling darkness waiting to swallow her up as soon as her thoughts go blurry and her vision gets misted and she can no longer hear and no longer see and no longer think. 
She just lies there for a while, her mind completely blank, her expression completely unreadable, and her body as cold as stone.
She goes into a sort of trance, a sort of an awoken sleep where she can still hear and sense everything around her but faint images from future dreams appear, and sometimes even distant images of future nightmares.
That's when she immediately sits up in her bed, her chest heaving with short heavy breaths that sound more like gasps as her dark eyes flash with fear in the darkness and she shakes her head fervently, trying to erase the pictures in her mind, promising, almost begging herself not to fall asleep, not to surrender to those horrible pictures, not to let her fall victim to those vivid nightmares that often come to haunt her at night.
Sometimes, she even gets up and wanders around her house, gliding across the cold hard floors, never flinching at any sounds, just long strides across the floor, in and out of rooms, up and down stairs, anywhere, everywhere, as long as she's far away from those promised nightmares as possible.
She will do all these things at night, the others in the house completely deaf to her stirrings as she watches the night sky, as she stares up at the same spot in the wall and thinks until her head hurts, as she closes her eyes and tries to block out the terrifying dreams, as she wanders the house like a lost child roaming the streets, eventually coming back to her home, to her room, with a mixed feeling of satisfaction and emptiness, as if she tried to run away but gave in to desire and came home, if you can even call it that.
She will do all these things, and anything else, as long as she does not fall asleep.
As long as those horrifying pictures do not flash in her mind.
As long as those dark dreams do not come to haunt her, to break her, to finish off the job they started years ago.
As long as those dark dreams don't come true.


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