Dead, murdered, gone. It’s fine. by Louie Miller

I sat in my dark bedroom feeling the walls breathe with me as I tried to control my breath. After asking if I was okay, my sister’s calm voice left with a click as my phone illuminated the room, before returning me to the dark ages once more. Her attempt at being brave for the both of us causing numbing paralysis, my body unable to move. I live in a house of sounds. Heavy music and conversations soaking bass through the wall as if walls were not paper thin. Tonight as the phone dropped, the house remained absent of sound. Floating in the dark abyss of space hearing a phantom static ring, like someone had turned on a TV.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed me as I screamed and shouted, but no sound left. Just the phantom ring. It was as if the sound had left my sister.

But my partner exists. Lost in the cold stormy sea of uncharted emotions. Skin wet from the storm of tears soaking bed sheets.

Despite how far I drift I can see the beam. The shining across the sea. The lighthouse, she tells me I’m not alone. Morning will come and this storm too will pass. You just have to make it till tomorrow. 

I’m not alone anymore, the damp pillow beginning to dry as the storm has passed. There will always be storms, much like there will always be a lighthouse guiding me from harm’s way. This makes me feel safe.

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