I can't sleep.
I can't sleep, I just can't sleep! I've been tortured by the same dream for about two hundred sixy-seven nights. I must be vexxed, maybe slightly insane?I've come to the conclusion that each dream is a likely a sequel to the one prior, all thanks to my handy sleep Journal.
I'm not able to remeber much details other than the smell of smoke and the feeling of being so helpless...
As a byproduct of this inconvenience, I've started being extra cautious. Regardless of the temperature I will not use the fire place, matches, or stove; and I've gotten rid of all the candles. By dusk I have to rely on touch to navigate through the house. My younger sister, Luce has been so understanding, I remember her comforting me by telling me that our lungs must be benefiting from the lack of exhaust in our vicinity. She's so sweet it's almost frustrating.
"Essence," I cock my head into the direction of the voice. Mrs Pillmier is gaping at me, raised brows, wrinkled nose lines, glasses slipping down her face. Based on her expression I must've delayed in answering a question. "Can you name all of the provinces apart of the UNC?" My eyes wander around the enclosed space,everybody is staring at me, some girls are blocking their faces with their binders as they try to contain their laughter, the boys have hardly acknoledged my presence, or maybe they are choosing to ignore it. A familliar set of green eyes catch my attention for a fraction of a millisecond. I retreat my gaze as fast as possible. Sometimes I imagine people as magnifying glasses. They reflect what they absorb. And choose to look closely at the minor impurities in something. I don't blame them, I'm a dilatory after all. Every action I make is monitored and judged throughroughly.
"Give me your hands." I'm presenting my hands to her; fully prepared for the blows. With the metal ruler in her hands she strikes me left wrist. Then my right. Then, as if on queue, everybody settles down in a matter of seconds. Mrs. Pillmier, is now facing the board. She jots down some of our homework topics for Monday. Aleast I think so.
The walk from school is unbearable. The cool winds beat on my hand stiched sweater. It's so cold I almost wish I was sitting near a fireplace. Almost. The streets are full of people, father's getting back from a hard day's work. Mothers doing groceries at the market. And Children coming back from school. It's like a scene from an Eighteenth century film. The SOCIETY has done well in mimicking such a scene. The SOCIETY always does well. I curve around my usually path. There are two figures down the back alleyway. A middle aged man and boy around my age. The man backhands the boy across the cheek. A hardened expression rested on his face. "Boy, Are you insane!?" The boys eyes wander off into the distance. I realize that they are those same green eyes....I can't stop looking at.