The Death Of The Night Essay
4 HOURS EARILER
OPENING; I wake to the sound of my own screams and heart pulsing recklessly in my chest. I close my eyes, trying to rid myself of the night terror I have just experienced. I focus on the posters hung on my ceiling and can feel the droplets of sweat fall from my pastel white hair to my forehead slowly making their way down my face and onto my nose, before plummeting on my bed sheets. The air is suffocating me and that’s when I know I need to get up. I grab my phone from the nightstand, which reads 2:15 am on the lock screen. I text the only friend I know will be awake at this ghastly hour.
“Blair, I’ve had another shitty dream, sneak out and meet me at the end of the street?”
I wait for the reply, my hands trembling.
“Leaving now.” is the only response.
My mind feels disconnected from my body as it leads me to my makeup stand and starts applying cheap eyeliner. Just as I’m about to make my way over to the window,…