Back to a Fitful Sleep and Back

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Light.”

It is too bright. I find the whispers of the new morning blinding and stark against the things that night hides. I close my eyes again, even as, somehow, the morning chill finds its way under the heavy covers. I pull the blankets up and over my head, smelling my rancid breath as I slowly suffocate myself to avoid facing the new day. Morpheus comes around again. He could always use some company. But, the things I have to do, the lives I have to live, will not let me be, and nightmares bedevil me in the growing warmth. I hear the hum of the life outside; a rebuke of my slovenly ways. Tossing the covers aside, I knock over the glass of water on the bedside table. I love the sound the water makes as it trickles through the cracks and on to the floor, that drrrrrrrrr drrr drrr.

What the heck. This may yet be a good day.


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