over the centuries

1

I lay there in my bed listening to the crickets gentle song. It's a normal summer night, quite and uneventful in the outskirts of Kansas city. We'll it's almost a normal night, by most standards anyways. The dishes are done, laundry put away, cats are fed, everything is right and we're it should be, except for this voice in my head.

"So what shall it be tonight poetry or a good story?" The voice reverberates through my skull. A gentle baritone masculine voice. Not my inner voice at all.

"And when are you planning on letting me sleep tonight?" I reply back in my mind, my own voice. The one I have control of.

"Come to think of it I think I'm going to keep my promise and ignore you until you tell me your name." I add a moment of silence later. My body snuggling further into the covers, making a point only I will register. Hopefully.

"And as I told you I'm merely a figment of your lonely minds imagination. Made up for your need of a friend after that horrible day at work weeks ago." He replied sardonically.

As if a bad day at work could make me go this crazy. This was one theory of mine, that I had literally gone crazy. The first night the voice came to me I was so surprised and scared I grabbed my bedside old bat and did five rounds throughout my house to look for intruders. The voice taunted me a little throughout my terrifying experience. He also reassured me I was safe but the sarcastic taunting is what stuck with me. I now have a security system, and a plan to see a psychiatrist if this doesn't end soon.

"OK figment of my imagination. I am Hella good at making poetry apparently. Maybe that'll be my next job." I smile to myself. "But I think my brain is tired of it maybe a story."

The voice grumbles in my head, the sound reverbating from one ear to the next. "Fine. I asked you what you prefer and I'll give you a story. This one is about a girl who tries to threaten a not so giving man."

My eyes go from one bunny on my sheet to the next, counting the surrounding flowers. "Ow I'm shaking. This man wouldn't happen to only be a voice would he?" I challenge back.

"Close your eyes now and listen. I think you'll like this one." His voice goes gentle in my mind.

"I just hope she wins in the end. She has to be daring." I snuggle now fully for comfort into my bed, readying for a sleep full night as he begins his story.

"Your horrible at being quite and listening by the way." His voice breaks out in the middle of his boring story.

"Maybe if you added some adventure I wouldn't feel the need to interject." I reply.

The next day I wake blerry eyes and groggy from another night of listening to the voice. I might have only listened to about thirty minutes of the story before I passed out but that's besides the point. I still woke tired from several nights of less sleep then planned.

"I should just go to sleep earlier I swear." I mumble to myself, pulling back the sheets and slipping on my slippers.

"Do you want some pancakes cassie?" I hear my husband call out from the kitchen.

"Sure" I call back in a less than enthusiastic voice as I begin to make my way downstairs to our kitchen.

I emerge to the smell of grease and sweet bread in my favorite robe and bed tossed hair.

"Did you sleep well today?" My husband's considerate voice asks. He's been concerned for me these last few weeks as my sleep schedule has prevented me from sharing a bed, and instead opting for the spare bedroom.

"Like a lamb." I lie as I sit at a bar stool at the island overlooking the stove top. "I'm more concerned about those pancakes then my sleep." My husband Aaron wourles around hurriedly and peers down at the now slightly burning chocolate pancakes.

"Crap!" He exclaims as he begins flipping again. I smile at him as I stretch out my stiff joints.

"I'm going to get ready for work while you continue flipping." He hmmms back at me in response.

I'm a nurse working at the Mayfield nursing home. My second home really it feels like. For someone who has always felt a stranger to there family many of the residents there began to feel like one. At least a little bit.

Ready to go to work I deseand the flight of stairs to my breakfast and awaiting husand. Hes already flying about grabbing for his keys and wallet in his black work shirt and pants. Stove off and door open to let out the smell of cooking.

"I have to run or I'll be late." He greats as he kisses my cheek. "A plates on the kitchen table for you." I hug him goodbye and finish my own work ritual.