Every night when he was a kid, his mother would come into his room and give him a goodnight kiss. After she would shut the blinds on his window and say goodnight, he would remain in the darkness and wait for sleep to envelop him, bringing him to his dream land. Some nights it wouldn't come as fast as the others.
Now, his mother doesn't come into his room and she doesn't shut the blinds to his window. She doesn't give him a goodnight kiss. The things that his mother used to do he does alone now. Except for one thing he does differently - he leaves the blinds up as if it was day time. Why, you may ask?
The reason lays in the thousands of lights coming from the houses in his town, the trees that hide and show the tiny dots that are someone else's lights in their homes.
It feels like someone else is there. It feels less alone.
And as the trees sway with the breeze that commands them to do so, he feels the city. He feels it running through his veins, and he feels the light, the sparkles.
He feels like a kid again.
And that feeling is something he wants - needs - to keep desperately.
So Casey leaves the blinds up, and the light shines on his face as he falls asleep.
YOU ARE READING
Paranoid With a Polaroid
General FictionCasey West lives in the small town of Nome, Alaska. He's never left, but he desperately wants to get out and travel around the world to see what other people are like. One night, Casey is outside with his camera and notices that a family is moving i...
