Pandora Thompson


In the dark, I see the sparks from the blanket as I move to cover my chilled feet.

The room is cold, not air-conditioned cold, but fresh-air cold, with a woodsy scent.

The breathing in the room, a peaceful sound, my pack surrounds me.

I feel safe again, protected.

I go over in my mind the flashes of pictures, words, feelings, left behind from the last dream.

Not pretty pictures this time, broken bodies, so much red.

Words that are lies.

The feelings left with me, deceit, betrayal, treachery.

This the exact opposite of where I lie now, with the faithful, my loyal love.

This contrast, when I can still feel, see and know horrible but have wonderful

edging all that away ... out of sight...

I can't help but think this is what it is like to die.

This brings more peace at 2:47 am, peace that stays with me for the day.

Pandora Thompson is a writer living in Georgia.

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