Dread of the New Day

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There were times when it seemed too hard, too difficult to meet the new day. Times when the night never seemed long enough, even though she chased restless sleep across the bed all night. She dreaded the sound of the alarm, which would, inevitably, drag her from whatever exhausted sleep she’d managed, where her dreams chased her down twisting corridors and through dense wild woods. Whatever it was that chased her in those dreams, she knew would be waiting for her every time she managed some exhausted sleep at the end of a long night of dreading the next day, but longing for some sleep, even if it meant those dreams chasing her across the bed.

When the alarm sounded she would lie there, not looking at the clock, hoping, even though she knew it was not, that it was the weekend and that she would be safe, if only for a couple of days. Alternatively, hoping it was some school holiday and she would not have to see them, face them for several days, if not weeks.

Then she would drag herself from the bed, reluctantly leaving the one field of torment and those unknown fears that chased her nights away, steeling herself ready to fare the torments of yet another day.

Sometimes, as she went about getting ready for the day she tried to console herself that one day, maybe even today; it would be different, that she would somehow find that secret key that would turn the day her way. Other days, she hoped to find something, maybe from the books that were her only comfort, some way of turning her world her way. Maybe, some day, she thought she would find some way of turning herself invisible or find some other power that would make her tormentors cower in front of her for a change.

Every day, though, seemed to be always the same for her, no matter what she thought, hoped, dreamed, said or did… at least until today when she woke up knowing, for certain, that it was the day when her world was going to change forever.

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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