The Monster (a short story)
In the darkest corner it
waits. Placidly waiting to torture me for the wrongs I have done. Pretending to
sleep, not to move, nor breathe, yet through an opening of my cave of pillows
covering my head, keeping my eyes indirectly fixed at the ink black end of the
room, where it placidly waits. Wrapping myself a little bit more under the
blanket, but still, not enough to not feel exposed. It knows that I’m awake,
knows that I hear the wind knocking at my window and feel the cold shadows of moonlit
trees dancing across the bed. It is in these cold, never-ending nights in
particular, where it appears and deprives me from sleep, patiently, silently
waiting, just standing there in that corner between the unlit. But tonight is
different, this time I dare to take a longer glimpse across the darkness, I
won’t wait for the old sun to save me. It already knows that I’m looking right
at him and stares back, something familiar the way it does. My heart is
pounding, but still determined to be exposed and to get out of my cave.
“What are you?! I know I’m
not asleep, but are you a product of my mind?”
Placidly staring, then at
once moving towards the window to escape. But I get up the bed, grab it at its
back, pulling it down to the floor, to see its face…
A seemingly never-ending
night. The wind knocking at my window. Between the cold shadows of moonlit
trees it is now plain to see. After all this time, the monster, it was me.
