Mark Powell

“He is awake with only the low burning of the lamp when he hears the dream coming, speaking, so that he answers in voice.
-Is it snowing outside? asks himself
-It's blowing, says the boy. Ain't sticking.
-Slush in the streets?
-Yeah, he tells himself. Just slush in the streets.
The lamp casts a circle of light on the ceiling above him.
-I need to sleep, says the boy. I don't need to be bothered no more.
-Then sleep.
He turns off the lamp.
-I'll come back later, says himself.
-I wish you wouldn't.
-But I will.
-Fine.
-Say goodnight.
But the boy does not and instead relaxes his eyes allowing them to focus loosely on the brown water spot above him that he is certain lies in the shape of a fetus.
-How is it for most people? asks the boy
-Don't worry about it. It ain't like this.
-I figured it wasn't.
-So don't worry about it. Go on and sleep. I thought you needed your sleep?
-I do
-Then sleep.
-All right, says the boy
The fetus turns slowly. Perhaps now he sees an eye.
-That could have been something, says the boy.
-Maybe, maybe not.
He lies still.
-Now say goodnight, he tells himself.
-Goodnight.”
― Mark Powell