mánudagur, október 23, 2006

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She does not sleep well in an entirely dark room. Or maybe it is only falling asleep that she finds difficult. It isn't terror of the dark, of what might be unseen in that blackness. She thinks it might be the disorientation that disturbs her. Drifting into sleep, her body becoming lighter, she might lose all sense of direction. She finds it unnerving. With even faint light from the window, the glow of distant sodium lights reflected back from the cloud layer, she can always deduce the location of everything in the room: floor, walls, the bed itself.

She was once pulled beneath the surf by the undertow. In the swirl of water and sand, she couldn't tell which way was up, and she needed to know which way to swim to break the surface before her breath ran out. Clever the way her mother was always clever, she let a single bubble of air escape her lips. It wobbled sidways. She turned and followed it.

If only she could do the same in the dark, open her mouth and allow a tiny, trembling sphere of light slip out and rise towards the ceiling.

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