My Small Room

In the corners of my small room, tiny creatures dwel. They call me when the man in the moon tells stories to the stars. Deep in the night, the tiny ones keep me company. They jump playfully around my bed, making soft laughing sounds. I hear them when they speak, repeating the same sentence over and over again: Don’t be afraid, little one.

I object. I tell them I am not little, nor afraid. They giggle and say the only words their tongues allow.

I toss and turn in my sleep, sensing their intrusion. I open my eyes and follow them bounce from one corner to the next, pointing little fingers at me, mocking me. I jump up and try to catch the slowest one, but she escapes. She hides in my pillow.

Today, I discovered how little I am in this world, and yes, I am afraid. Terrified of what it will wring out of me.

Today, in the bright sun light, I miss my small room. I long to tonight’s moon. I want to run to my tiny creatures, call out to them before they call me, and ask them to tell me what to do with all this lunacy.

End this day.

Bring on the night.

Let the madness begin.