Last Night
I laid awake listening attentively for the sound that disturbed my much needed sleep. At first, I did not hear anything but the light snoring of my husband. I closed eyes trying to drift off to sleep but there it is again, the noise. I strained my ears and I hear it. The noise is low and dark.
I debated with myself about checking on it myself or waking my husband. I decided to grab our defense system, Betsy the Bat, and investigate. I tip toed to my daughter room to see if the sound is the tree branch hitting the window. I know it is not that but I was trying to procrastinate.
She was fast asleep sucking her thumb. I tucked the blanket under her and whispered that I love her.
The noise pulled me back to my bedroom but I do think I walked those steps. It feels as if my feet floated above the ground. The sound pulled me toward it.
I knew something is wrong and I wished that I woke my husband up. But I cannot move my feet and open my mouth to call his name. I was in a daze; the noise is no longer a sound. It was a voice, a hunting familiar voice. Even though my feet and my mouth would not move, my hands reached up to the curtain and pushed it aside. At first, I saw nothing and I almost happily sigh.
Then I saw her, standing in the rain. I wiped the fog from the window and put my ear to it listening. The moaning became clearer. It was a woman voice, who said “I want to” but I could not understand the rest because my nerves or fake asthma caused my breath to be loud and haggard.
I closed my eyes tight trying to pray that I was still dreaming. Before I could finish my prayer, they are opened by her loud moaning. I could hear her voice in my bones; I instantly tighten my grip on the bat. Her words and her pain are one wounded heartbreaking song. She was standing there with the moon as her spotlight making her golden hair seem white. She was holding what look likes to be a pair of running shoes. She glanced up at me and we locked eyes, she said, “I want to run with you”.
She sings this poignant cry over and over. I want to run with you. My scream was caught in my throat but some how I broke her gaze but lose my footing and fell on something. Fearing that I fell on the bat, I immediately grabbed the item and with the glint of the moon, I know what it is before I saw them. They are her running shoes.
The voice is now a whisper but it’s clear. I want to run with you.
I debated with myself about checking on it myself or waking my husband. I decided to grab our defense system, Betsy the Bat, and investigate. I tip toed to my daughter room to see if the sound is the tree branch hitting the window. I know it is not that but I was trying to procrastinate.
She was fast asleep sucking her thumb. I tucked the blanket under her and whispered that I love her.
The noise pulled me back to my bedroom but I do think I walked those steps. It feels as if my feet floated above the ground. The sound pulled me toward it.
I knew something is wrong and I wished that I woke my husband up. But I cannot move my feet and open my mouth to call his name. I was in a daze; the noise is no longer a sound. It was a voice, a hunting familiar voice. Even though my feet and my mouth would not move, my hands reached up to the curtain and pushed it aside. At first, I saw nothing and I almost happily sigh.
Then I saw her, standing in the rain. I wiped the fog from the window and put my ear to it listening. The moaning became clearer. It was a woman voice, who said “I want to” but I could not understand the rest because my nerves or fake asthma caused my breath to be loud and haggard.
I closed my eyes tight trying to pray that I was still dreaming. Before I could finish my prayer, they are opened by her loud moaning. I could hear her voice in my bones; I instantly tighten my grip on the bat. Her words and her pain are one wounded heartbreaking song. She was standing there with the moon as her spotlight making her golden hair seem white. She was holding what look likes to be a pair of running shoes. She glanced up at me and we locked eyes, she said, “I want to run with you”.
She sings this poignant cry over and over. I want to run with you. My scream was caught in my throat but some how I broke her gaze but lose my footing and fell on something. Fearing that I fell on the bat, I immediately grabbed the item and with the glint of the moon, I know what it is before I saw them. They are her running shoes.
The voice is now a whisper but it’s clear. I want to run with you.