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Sep. 17th, 2003 03:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningIt's the fall.
She fights her way back to wakefulness with the whisper in her mind. For an instant, it seems utterly simple, complete crystalline clarity, and then with the next blink, she is fully awake and it has retreated. It leaves abject terror in its wake, a sense of having faced some horror she cannot name, and she swings her feet to the floor, pulling her blanket around her shoulders and making her way to the window where the reddish light of the moon seems to warm a patch of floor. There, she sinks to place her back against the wall, drawing her knees up beneath her chin as she struggles for understanding. Without walking to the door to see, she knows the twins are in their beds, not sleeping -- Aidyn, for one, is too silent to be asleep -- and realises she has probably screamed aloud.
Almost, the idea of having so little control is worse than the fear itself. She buries her head in her hands and remains so for a long time, slipping back into bed only when soft snores from the children's room remind her that tomorrow they will need her to be alert.
She firmly ignores the turmoil in her heart, and, mercifully, her sleep this time is dreamless.
She fights her way back to wakefulness with the whisper in her mind. For an instant, it seems utterly simple, complete crystalline clarity, and then with the next blink, she is fully awake and it has retreated. It leaves abject terror in its wake, a sense of having faced some horror she cannot name, and she swings her feet to the floor, pulling her blanket around her shoulders and making her way to the window where the reddish light of the moon seems to warm a patch of floor. There, she sinks to place her back against the wall, drawing her knees up beneath her chin as she struggles for understanding. Without walking to the door to see, she knows the twins are in their beds, not sleeping -- Aidyn, for one, is too silent to be asleep -- and realises she has probably screamed aloud.
Almost, the idea of having so little control is worse than the fear itself. She buries her head in her hands and remains so for a long time, slipping back into bed only when soft snores from the children's room remind her that tomorrow they will need her to be alert.
She firmly ignores the turmoil in her heart, and, mercifully, her sleep this time is dreamless.
