Night Cries
by
Timotei
It’s midnight. The moon is doing its thing high in the sky. The streets are silent except for the mewing and cry of beasts seeking purchase upon one another. There is a nervousness about the night, a kind of unsettling mood that wraps around the street lights like a damp blanket, cold and insensitive. No one is aware of this moment, this break in time that captures the purity of waking nightmares. All eyes are closed and breaths draw deeply in the warm embrace of blankets and comforters. From house to house no one sees, no one is alert. She creeps from yard to yard, leaping fences, gardens and alarms and no one is aware. She tests doors, gently turning handles, testing for movement and the slightest stirrings from within.
One by one she is met by resistance at the door so she moves on, methodically, silently drifting from home to home, door to door. One door welcomes her entreaty. The light of the still silent night pierces the inner sanctum of the doorway as she glides through the threshold. She pauses, listening, her blood dancing with anticipation and hunger. She need not adjust to the darkness inside. Darkness is her lover and she is home within its soft embrace.
She tests the air inhaling deeply the stories of a home at rest but unaware. The smell of the day’s activities lights her imagination and stirs her animal passions. She is alive and eager to begin the nights’ grim tasks. She is not swayed by the thought of failure. These hold no value or meaning for her. She is on target and ready to do what she was created to do.
Gliding, she moves without further hesitation to the stairwell, heart racing and juices flowing now with ever increasing fever. Is it really happening she thinks to herself? Is tonight the night at long last? After so many eons of trial and error, failure after failure, one disappointment after another, can this be the night she becomes whole again? The thought is almost unbearable. She shudders in anticipation.
With one shaking hand she grips the banister, feeling her way, caressing the grooves and ripples of the crayon scarred wall as she makes her way to the top of the stairwell. The moon’s light is her chorus now, breaking through the windows of the upper landing, painting a sheer but soft glow upon the juice stained carpet below her mishapened hooves. The moon light flows over the fire truck and baby dolls left on the floor by little hands. The abandoned toys seem to come to life in the moon’s eerie glow, shaking in fear as she approaches. Oblivious to the approaching danger, the halls before her remain silent to her passing. She is so close now, so very close.
The door before her lithe form is ajar, beckoning silently, urgently…persistently. The little bodies inside are huddled and cuddle close to one another. Little arms and legs hang carefree in every direction, poking out from powder blue blankets and pink rose colored sheets. The scent of innocence is stifling. She pauses taken back by the sheer power of the moment. Her eyes are fixed on the little blond boy. His heart wants her. She’s sure of it. Her tools are unsheathed and gleam silver in the rooms soft night glow. She paid dearly for these weapons of mayhem and despair. She will test their full value this night.
She moves toward the bed, heart dancing and beating without restraint. Little breaths escape from little mouths. None is aware. None sees. She reaches for him. His eyes open and …
To be continued…
VisionFlow 