In the still of the night.

You know what scares me most about the dark? It’s not soothing. It smothers you in defenselessness. The blackness slowly slips over your neighborhood, silencing the world around you and cutting your connections to others. It’s in the quiet of the night that all of the terrifying things happen. Granted things happen during the day. But it’s at night, when people slip in quietly, nonchalantly, and commit acts screaming with finality, that remain silent until people, waking up softly on their pillows, stumble into the streets to walk their dogs and get the mail, notice that shards of window glass are laying on the sidewalk and the wind is blowing aside the off-white, decaying curtain in the neighbor’s bedroom.

 

This is another throwback, written six years ago.

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