No Sound but The Wind

After my chores were finished for the day I fell into bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, wondering what would happen if I fell asleep. Would I have another nightmare?

I realized that I wasn't going to sleep tonight, so I turned over. I stared at the wall and noted every scratch, dent, and chip. I took the time to memorize the chalky color, its' image burning into my brain. I rolled over again and stared at the opposite wall for what seemed like hours until eventually I felt that the night was over and the sun was up.

When I opened the door to my room I realized I had been right. The sun was beginning to rise and the warm light was just beginning to shine through the windows. I went to the laundry room and scooped the clean sheets into a basket. I felt like all of my energy had been drained, not only from lack of sleep, but from lack of emotion. I felt like I wasn't alive, and I almost laughed at the thought of a similarity between Ethan and myself.

I continued to change the sheets on every bed in the house, except for Ethan's. I scrubbed every floor in the house on my hands and knees until they were bruised and water wrinkled. I cleaned every window of dust or dinge until my arms were sore.

Mary had tried to talk me out of my cleaning fury but I wouldn't budge. A few times she asked me to join her for lunch or dinner, but I declined with the excuse that I wasn't hungry. She eventually gave up and left me alone for the rest of the day.

Luckily, I didn't run into anyone else either. I didn't care if he was angry with me, I didn't even care if he was sorry. I was done trying to look on the bright side of this crappy situation. I was shutting down.

That night, after lying in bed for a few hours of staring at the wall again, I fell asleep. I was asleep for an hour or two before I started to have the nightmare again: the blonde vampire ringing my neck to the point that I had to accept death until I woke up and had to catch my breath.

I began on the new round of chores for the day. My eyelids felt like they were made of lead and every time I blinked it was if there was sand inside of them. But still, I continued to push my way through and finish my work, ignoring everyone's attempts at breaking me out of my stupor.

At one point, while I was scrubbing the dishes, Mary put her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her wrinkled fingers curled around me and felt a twinge of something for a brief second, until I regained my composure. "Honey," she tried. "You need to eat something. You're running on empty."

"No thank you," I shook my head. My voice sounded distant and dead. "I'm not hungry."

"You're letting yourself go," she pleaded, "you're losing yourself." When I looked at her, her expression was so full of worry that I felt guilty for bringing this burden upon her. There was nothing for her to worry about. I was not of her concern. She would be better off if she let me go.

I looked into her eyes, my face showing no expression. I tried to show her how much there wasn't left in me, how close I was to emptiness.

"There's nothing left to lose," I told her flatly, staring for only a moment more before turning back to the dishes. She didn't say another word; she simply stood there, watching. After a few minutes, she finally turned away.

For the rest of the day, I saw no one.