The Still
by James Michael Rice
Just before her fingers find the switch, I notice that she is wearing an odd expression, one I have never seen before: fear.
My mother wasn’t waving goodnight.
She was trembling.
I kick and scream and fight against it, but sleep pulls me away from the waking world. Pulls me down, down into the bottomless dark.
The darkness fills my eyes, and I am blind.
It fills my ears, and I am deaf.
I try to scream, and the shadows flow into my mouth.
Presently, the darkness and I become one.
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