the stillness (short fiction)

Witching hour is imminent. I told myself I would go to bed early, but as usual, I failed. This sleep cycle of mine will not be reformed anytime soon.

Somehow, I find solace in this stillness. Hopefully, it will be enough to lull me to sleep.

A lone lamp post illuminates the street on which I grew up. Through the cracks in my blinds, I can see it all. Twelve families have lived in the house across the street. Why they dropped like flies is uncertain, but in the back of my head, I like to believe a ghost chased them away.

Once upon a time, my next door neighbor’s car was state-of-the-art. Now, it is as moribund as him. Guilty as I am for counting the days until both are gone for good, it has helped me fall asleep on some nights.

Tonight is not one of those nights. My mind  cannot run wild on a night like this.

Numbered are my days left in this collection of rooms. Ninety nine percent of my existence has been here. It’s where I’ve risen for each day and retreated for each night. Now, I do neither. I simply stay stagnant, tailoring a cost-benefit analysis for when I’ll leave this place. As of right now, I can only find the former.

The bed opposite of me is empty. Ten years ago, I’d look at it to pinpoint my sister, and without fail, she was there. Her presence would assure me that it was safe for me to shut my eyes.

The one time it was vacant was a precursor to this years-long struggle. All of her sheets and blankets have been left as is, gathering dust and giving no evidence as to where she’s gone.

I need to turn my back.

Four pale blue walls encase this space. They used to be dotted with clouds, but the white paint withered with time. My parents had prepared it for my arrival into this world. Their first child was a big deal, and each expectation was through the roof.

The girl they got did not warrant a painted sky.

I can’t bear to look at these reminders. Not one place in my safe space is actually safe. For the first time, both my mind and my body are in equilibrium.

I want to leave this room.

My feet land on the course carpet. I’ve forgotten how much it itches to get up and walk around. The door creaks, taking me aback. The outside’s siren song is already louder than anticipated.

I tiptoe through the hallway, praying no one opens their eyes and catches me in my sleepless stroll. I can see nothing ahead of me, nor do I care to. I’m at ease.

Until my eyes begin to adjust to the dark.

Directly in my line of sight are the rows of old pictures. My family, my sister, old friends, our faces before the fall. Everything comes back at once.

The time I have left in this stillness is getting shorter by the minute. The night is quiet, which makes my the pounding in my head all the louder. I can feel the 3 a.m. all throughout my chest. Anything and everything can catch up to me.

I have to get out of here.

I run to the door; it’s bolted shut. The memories are creeping closer and closer. I die to be back in my state of denial and equipped with the gift of repression. But my mind is not strong.

There’s no going back now. I’ve disrupted the stillness.