Though it is dark and still, the night does not exist. It is not the leaves that rustle in the wind, but the desiccated remains of creatures that once sung about the moon. The werewolf does not howl, it is the sound of thoughts that were given life, and now scream out in agony. I look for a ritual that will guarantee an eternity, but am overwhelmed by the fullness of one minute.
Alone, free from those who would judge me, I wish for Juliet’s death. This heart of mine thumps out a war song. This time, I do not wish to control my thoughts.
Sister unleashes verbal attacks, provoked by anything that makes her unhappy. I bite my tongue, knowing the children’s eyes are fixed on me to do the right thing.
Her footsteps no longer make a sound. Perhaps, she is already dead. Her passing was too difficult for me to process, so I sleep. This dream cannot go on forever, and all will be well in time. The low-frequency humming I still hear, assures me this is not reality.