Galliopolis

 

Sometimes, while sleeping, she would feel the edge of the bed sink down, as though someone were climbing in with her.  It used to wake her up, sometimes jerking away suddenly, others, simply opening her eyes to see what was there.  She never saw anything.

At times, she tried to listen, to see if she could hear breathing, but there was only silence that sung her back to sleep, to dream, until it happened again.  It wasn’t every night.  In fact, it never happened when she was ready for it, preferring instead to come closer when her mind was distracted with other, presumably, more mundane things.

Once, she felt it, her eyes popping open immediately, as it slid into bed behind her, cozying up to her back, before growing bold enough to wrap its arms around her.  It whispered something in her ear, too faint for her to hear with anything other than her sleeping mind, but there was one too many in the bed to make room for the translation of the Sand Man.

The arms faded away with the first light, and she sat up, unready to face the day, and still afraid to look behind her, in case it had simply slipped over the edge of her mattress, and was now watching from the floor, only its eyes visible at the edge of her bed.  She fought the urge to lift her feet from the floor by swearing to herself that nothing, nothing could be under there, and admitting silently, that being crazy was better than being wrong.

Somewhere between hiding under the covers, and forcing herself to get up and move, she glanced down at the floor.  There, by her right foot, was a single large white fluffy feather, the kind that decorated angels in Rembrandt paintings, in those seconds when Light first kissed their skin.  Still hesitating, terrified and burning with curiosity stronger than ever, some long forgotten memory stirred in her mind.

 Galliopolis.

The name brought more questions than answers.  Was it a name or a place?  She only knew that the white feather was connected.

Please, she prayed to no one, and anyone.  Help me.

Not expecting an answer, she sighed, and started to stand up, just as something grabbed her ankle from under the bed.

(c) J. A. Brown, Storyteller- January 10, 2017

Translate »
%d bloggers like this: