She is woken up. Not by a sound, not by any change in the environment. She just is woken up and she knows that she did not wake by herself. It's far from daybreak. She doesn't know why but she feels like it's not going to come. It doesn't scare her, it doesn't surprise her, her brain accepts the thought that there is going to be no morning as a normal, natural thing. It's just not going to happen. The night drags on as it always has and always will.
What scares her is the figure standing in the middle of that room. She cannot make out a thing, even a vague outline but she already knows it has a wet, baggy leather jacket, that its breath smells like beer, cheap cigarettes and canned tuna. She finds herself knowing more things about the figure that she can't even see than she ever wanted to. It approaches closer. She isn't crying but tears flood the corners of her eyes. She pulls the blanket up and presses herself against the wall. Instead of wallpaper, for some reason there's cold, moist concrete behind her and her bed seems like wet ground and grass. When she tries to reach to the nightstand, not even quite knowing what for, all she can sense are the thorny bushes, wet after the rain like everything else. His warm disgusting breath is right on her neck, it creeps up her nostrils and she nearly vomits. He hits her head against the concrete wall of the factory. And with a loud, low thud, she is in her room. It is too bright to see but she knows instinctively that the mirror beside her bed has been shattered.
She wakes up, She thinks about what an unusually calm night's rest she had last night, and, as she steps out the bed, a sharp burst of heat surges from her right foot. She looks down to see herself starting back from a shard of broken glass and a few drops of blood.
What scares her is the figure standing in the middle of that room. She cannot make out a thing, even a vague outline but she already knows it has a wet, baggy leather jacket, that its breath smells like beer, cheap cigarettes and canned tuna. She finds herself knowing more things about the figure that she can't even see than she ever wanted to. It approaches closer. She isn't crying but tears flood the corners of her eyes. She pulls the blanket up and presses herself against the wall. Instead of wallpaper, for some reason there's cold, moist concrete behind her and her bed seems like wet ground and grass. When she tries to reach to the nightstand, not even quite knowing what for, all she can sense are the thorny bushes, wet after the rain like everything else. His warm disgusting breath is right on her neck, it creeps up her nostrils and she nearly vomits. He hits her head against the concrete wall of the factory. And with a loud, low thud, she is in her room. It is too bright to see but she knows instinctively that the mirror beside her bed has been shattered.
She wakes up, She thinks about what an unusually calm night's rest she had last night, and, as she steps out the bed, a sharp burst of heat surges from her right foot. She looks down to see herself starting back from a shard of broken glass and a few drops of blood.
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