personal blog: simon

“ahhhhhh!” I scream into my pillow.

like that suspenseful note on a piano struck in five-seconds intervals.

“one.” hold my fingers tight. “one.” switch the lights up on high. “one” switch every light in the house.

are there no ghosts to talk to me? is my voice the only pestering reasoning I can hear?

“one.” hold my fingers tight.

I pull the pillow closer to me. something to hold onto. anything besides the emptiness… and I squeeze the air out of it. squeeze until my arms begin to hurt. just a little bit of physical pain to forget the pain inside my head.

the blanket that covers the town, separating us from the sun and the moonlight is too bleak for me to retrieve anything beautiful, peaceful.

the monsters come out at night. that might have been my father’s note, but I still believe that monsters come out at night.

and then the light dims a little. the rooms spins a little.

and I am back again catching air with caution as if my ribs were broken, as if my lungs were filled with water.

“ahhhhhh!” another scream into my pillow. another borrowed time. another collapse of my lucidity.

paper and crayons; but I rip the illustration in half and try another. rip it in half and try another.

‘breathe… breathe… breathe…’

I am going to die tonight.

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read more: ← sunday 23:17 • monday 10:05 →

© simon whittle — second act