The Sacred Hour of Shut-Eye
Tag: dailyprompt-2041
It’s Just Something about it
DAILY CHALLENGE RESPONSE
I’ve always enjoyed the part of the day when it seems the world is still asleep. Nothing is stirring; it is just quiet. Today, silence is a commodity. We need to have something going all the time. We can’t seem to be still. I’m no better; I have something going on all the time. Yet, sometimes, right before dawn, I sit outside and listen to the soundscape. The crickets chirping. The rustle of the grass as a stray cat moves to its next hiding place. I feel them watching me. It’s okay because watching them. Sometimes, they come to visit. They lay on the porch, taking in the morning.
I was raised in the city, so I didn’t understand what it meant to be still. I’ve spent time in the desert and the woods. I know there are things that go bump in the night. They’re protecting themselves from our clumsiness, our rudeness, our carelessness, and our obliviousness. They have so much to say without uttering a word. I wonder what it would be like if we were just silent?
The Nature of Daylight
What’s your favorite time of day?
PROSE – DAILY PROMPT
This shouldn’t be a difficult question, but as I consider a response to this daily prompt, the difficulty has begun to rear its ugly head. The three-eyed gnarly creature and its rotten tooth cousin doubt fester, making me weak and powerless. Yet, desperately, I wage war against myself to write the whispering verses I hear throughout most days. But I’m more than a little curious about how this post will end.
The Night has come. I close my eyes and envision the stories the words have whispered throughout the day. I sway to the waves of darkness. My lips moistened by “the ballad of stillness.” as I await its return. Writing is what I’m here for. Writing is what I crave. I write to claim the sanity that is mine.
I feel my monster stirring, preparing to drag me down another hole. Can someone feed this monster while I string the words together as I rapidly approach the bottom? Our blades are drawn, my katana versus his scimitar. Our swords clang as they slice the air. Each wound releases our demons. Demons, we don’t want to know. Yet, we ignore the pain, the truth, and smile.
The monster whispers, “Help me if you can?”
“Kick rocks!” I reply
The monster pleads, “Write me a lullaby.”
Let me ask you a question? Has anyone ever seen a monster pout? He even had his bottom shot out. That crusty, gnarled-up thang. Definitely, not a good look. Because I’m a dick, I sang an enthusiastic rendition of Drowning Pool’s “Tear Away.”
You know this bastard had the nerve to weep? When did crying monsters become a thing? Soft-ass monsters? That’s some bullshit! I going to need his bitch ass to get it together. Without him haunting me, driving me further into the bowls of madness. I will burn all my journals, for I won’t confess anymore. I can no longer bury my secrets in shame. This is where I draw the line.
Wait, the dawn is coming. This whiny asshat has kept me up all night. Is this my future? Is my journey to sanity haunting me? For my monster is sleeping. My body, my spirit, awaits the caress of Slumber. I slip into her arms and surrender. To be soothed, even if it’s for a short while. This is my favorite part of the day . I sleep as the world awakens. For a few hours, I bask in the nature of daylight. …its 5 am
Memoirs of Madness 