The grinning face stared at me through the darkness of my bedroom window. I live on the 14th floor.
He came to my near sunset and put his cold hand in mine whispering that he had seen it as he fell to the ground, dead. We still don't know how he got out of the morgue.
When I finally grabbed her in the darkness, I swam back to the surface. It never occurred to me how fast ice could freeze over.
Sleep did not come to me easily that night in the cabin, in the woods. The portraits only portrayed the deformed, the creped, and the damned. Sleep has never came easily to me ever again, for when I had woke, I had found no portraits, only windows.
After so many years living alone, in this large house, it came to a startling revelation. In this time, I had closed far more doors than I had opened.
My brother says mommy killed him. Mommy says I don't have a brother.
My daughter won't stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, and it doesn't help.