Waiting Out The Night In My Life

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The clock strikes six and the sun begins to settle behind the valley. Darkness creeps upon my lonely home. I am no longer safe. Night-time once again serves to be ever so nerve wracking for me, never knowing what lurks among the unenlightened distance. Living out isolated in the middle of nowhere makes things even more stressful, especially not having a safe, warm, or secure place to stay.

Most nights I lie awake, hidden beneath the covers of my bed. I constantly attempt to block out the sounds of howling wolves, hooting owls, and creaking branches. At night everything feels daunting, and I wait anxiously until the sun rises once again. The trees reach out their lengthy limbs and grind their claws against the roof. I am petrified, but all I can do is lay there and wait for silence. My life is extremely depressing, especially when the sun sleeps. No one to talk to. Nothing to do. I am faced once again with the challenge of waiting out the night in my cold, creaky bed, frightened of what the Nocturnals have in store for me.

In the past, I used to love when the sun went to bed. I always scurried down streets lighten up by vast amounts of neon bulbs. Or partied with friends until our bodies could take no more. Back then I had friends, family, and an inviolable, snug house. The best thing of
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Every day, I regret being the mess I was, and I can now see why I was kicked out of home. My school grades were far below average. The items in my room were strewn all over the place. Dirty plates lay around the house, and it was rare if I showered. All in all, I lacked in hygiene, and the simple task of being able to clean up my mess. By the time age eighteen hit, my parents were immediately onto me, and ordered me to go. Agony strikes me whenever I think of all the opportunities I once had when I was younger. Formerly blooming with splendid ideas and brilliance, now all I am is a useless, lonely

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