Light Taken

February 15, 2010
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I glanced out the window and saw the moon hiding behind the clouds. Just then, lightening struck. The room flashed alive and for a moment I saw your face. Yours was calm but I knew what mine must have looked like. I felt my eyes wide and wet, the rivers flowing from them making my face a sea of anxiety and fear. I've always been afraid of the dark. And it was dark. The power had gone out with the storm and I had called to you, screamed to you until your dark figure appeared in the doorway.
"Thank God! Julie come here, come here!"
You came but slowly, already tired of me.
"Yes Jessa?" you sighed.
"Please just sit with me."
You didn't say anything but you didn't leave so I held you hand.
"Thank you."
We'd been sitting like this for awhile before the lightening struck and illuminated your face, so calm. I saw for the first time the lines cut deep into your skin like dried up rivers. The black under your eyes. I'm sorry. I stole so much of your life.
"Jessabelle, I'm very tired."
"Please," I begged.
You stayed.

When mother died I was the only one that cried. You sat with me and said nothing. I held your hand and sobbed into it.
"Don't you miss her?" I demanded through my sobs.
You used to have more words but the cave of teeth seemed to create less and echo more each day.

I guess there's no room for your fear, when mine engulfs us both. I was so angry at your lack of emotion but I didn't understand that I was imposing that stone on you. When father left those many years ago, mother was there to absorb our despair. But this time she was not. You remind me of her now. So cold, so calm. I held your hand but yours was limp in mine.

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