One Hundred Words (48)
As a child in the country, I slept with the radio on, preferring to mask the barks and howls and creaks of the Great Unknown with the comforting patter of overnight disc jockeys.
But now I have learned I have more to fear within than without, and I find I cannot dream of sleeping to a soundtrack other than that which surrounds me.
The ticking wall clock signifies the constant march of time, as outside, the slams and yells and windy moans testify of existence, shared yet separate. Sirens wail. And I experience life again before leaving it, ever so briefly.