3rd Fugue
Waking Up
in the middle of the night.
You creep up the stairs. You creak down them.
You walk through black hallways, stepping over piles and stacks as you go.
Everyone else is asleep. Or simply absent.
Water rushes, inside the pipes, and outside the window. It is still raining.
There are no tics. There are no tocs. You do not own a clock.
You need a splash of water on the face, perhaps. To ward off forgotten nightmares.
So back upstairs, you go.
You turn the knob, and open the door.
Nightmare.
Something is staring at you.
You almost scream, when
your hand brushes against the light switch.
It is only a mirror, of course.
Of course.
Why were you afraid?
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