Donna in the Dark
She comes downstairs for a late night snack but somewhere in the process she forgets just what it was she wanted. So she just stands in front of the fridge with the door wide open letting light spill into the darkness. The cold air escapes prompting her to pull her robe just a little bit tighter.
She stares blankly at the open fridge. She feels like she's missing something obvious. There's something right there in front of her, something important but she can't quite grasp it.
She wonders if the dreams she can never remember have anything to do with it.
She has a wonderful life, a caring husband, good job, nice friends and yet she catches the way her Grandpa stares at her when he thinks she can't see him. He looks at her as if he's mourning the loss of something great but she's not lost. At least, she thinks she's not.
Her eyes settle on a dark blue container. She grabs it and finds herself disappointed when it only reveals the leftovers of last night's dinner. She doesn't know why the smallness of the blue box leaves her feeling sad, but it does.
She puts the container back, her face scrunching up as if she almost found the part of her that's missing. But then it's gone and she sighs, closing the fridge so that once again she's standing in the dark.
She wasn't that hungry anyway she just… she didn't know. So she climbs upstairs and back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
Once asleep she will dream of planets and stars and adventures and a small blue box that is bigger on the inside. But they're only dreams. And she won't remember them in the morning anyway.