by Margaret Iuni
I realize this only after the darkness creeps into the room, seeping through the cracks underneath the door. My eyes slam shut and I wrap the blankets tighter around me, but it makes no difference. The damage is done. The destructive cyclone begins, tearing down walls that the morning falsely insists are reality. There is no eye of the storm, no calmness in the chaos. The longer it spins, the faster it speeds along until it knocks me out with the sheer force and weight of fear. While I sleep, the feeble walls return.
