There was big rain in the night. I lay there, the indigestion
bile burning in my throat, wondering how I had arrived at this particular point
in time. Sometimes the rain soothes, but last night its beating drummed on my
mind like the snares of a dozen devil drummer boys marching me with a ceremonial
rat-a-tat-tat to hell.
The hourly, on the hour, wakings are back and nothing, not
even the comfort of a small, white, warm cat lying beside me, can stop them
from breaching my sleep. It’s not insomnia, I have no trouble falling asleep,
but the repeated wake-up-calls leave me exhausted. Of course I can send myself
back to sleep in moments, picturing the blackness surrounding the single story
building, flowing in through the open window, smoothing across the floor to
where he lies like a mountain of corruption, smug and secure in the knowledge
that he is the all powerful big man.
He’s always the big man… rat-a-tat-tat.
I mumble something. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.
Something… somewhere… and before the deed can be done, the pouring blackness of
suffocation started, I wake up, throat burning and itching, and make my stiff-kneed
stumbling way to the bathroom again for another sip of water - cold and iron.
I lay listening to the rain. It seems to be talking. If only
I could make out the words. I savour the taste of cold and iron as I fall back into
the black and slide through the open window. This time there might be thunder.
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