***
I would be the first to admit that my dreams were not always pleasant. Sometimes, they were downright frightening. When I was eight, I started having nightmares about being burned alive. Having the nightmares wasn’t much of a concern until Emma started having the same nightmares. It became something we shared. Our parents kept denying that we had endured some sort of trauma when we were younger. Sometimes, we still get the nightmares, and the fear of fire and smoke remained strong. When we were young, it was very difficult to keep things in perspective, and when I was eight, I thought they were real.
Back in my room and finally in bed, I thought about the day in greater detail for the simple pleasure of torturing myself. Then, I waited for the voice in my head to start talking. He usually started talking around this time. Tonight, however, the only voice in my head was my own. Why is that? Come on, friend, talk to me.
I sat up on the bed and punched my pillow three times, fluffing it up. It’s funny. I never thought that my pillow was too hard for my head until tonight. I rested my head on my pillow once again. This time, when I closed my eyes, blessed sleep finally came to me.