the untamed things

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Did she really hear a woman's cry?

She shivers and quickly steps out of the bathtub, wrapping her body in a big, deep purple towel and resting her hands against the creamy sink. What the hell was that? She questions into the empty space around her, eyes falling to her reflection. She looked scared and confused, terrified of everything that seemed to be happening in the last few days.

Well, whatever it was today, it went away, though Mel didn't seem to be even half as scared as she was but looking anxious, fingers curling in and out. She sent her a few weary stares, but eventually, Mel just shook it off, telling her not to worry too much and that all will be well. She took the advice as best as she could, yet the feeling stayed with her for many hours, the memory of it still lingering deep under the skin. What was she to do? What if something worse happened?

What if she hurt someone?

Her nerves start to pick up, hands holding the sink tighter, muscles straining, panic overtaking her and causing the blood to almost freeze in her veins, attacking the deepest structure of her bones. And without even a second break, the lights above her head begins to blink, making those snapping, sickening sounds again. It makes her flinch with eyes shutting tightly, knowing better now. SHE was causing that, and it made her entire body swim in fear, feeling like she might suffocate at any moment. She shakes her head and quickly works on the breathing, trying to meditate just like Mel taught her, taking deep, steady breaths. And thankfully, after a while, the lights stop flickering, everything in the room becoming still. The only remaining evidence of life in the four walls coming from the rushed pulse of her heart, still quivering like a baby bird thrown out into the cold too fast. She exhales slowly but still trembles like a leaf.

I just need sleep, it will help. And when I wake up, it will all just be another nightmare, the morning pushing all of the shadows away. It will, it will, it will. She closes her eyes tight shut again and chants like a stubborn little girl, then almost runs out of the bathroom and into her temporary bed on the second floor. It will, it will, it will. It has to. Please, please, please.

Just make it stop already.

Body trembles as she curls into a tight ball, warm flannel sheets covering her as if in a carefully made nest, an illusory symbol of safety for the frail little bird made of a softly painted, night-colored soul. No longer a brave raven, but barely a black robin lost in the everlasting Winter's night, so far away from the sun.

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