Whispers

"One... two... three... four..."

The whispered words echoed across the lonely room, breaking the unsettling silence. The moonlight cut a sliver of light across the old wood floors, casting shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The outline of a leafless tree swayed stiffly in the outline of a four-paned window, adding movement to the otherwise still room.

Lying on her side, knees pulled up tightly against her chest, Xiomara held the hem of her tattered blanket in her fists, refusing to let go. She let her sister's whispered words comfort her. The night was unnaturally silent; the quiet murmurs were a welcome noise. It both puzzled and frightened Xiomara that she could not hear beyond the four walls protecting her from the outside world. It was the first night in a long time that it had been this quiet; it felt as though she and her sister were alone in the world. That wasn't true, though, and Xiomara knew it; her parents slept in a room just down the hall.

"Five... six... seven... eight... nine..."

Stretching out her long legs, Xiomara turned to lie on her back, one of her arms coming to rest beneath her head while the other still clutched the blanket. Wisps of her short blonde hair stuck to the side of her face that she'd been resting on, sweat coating her entire body. The room was warm despite it being winter, and no fire blazed in the small hearth across the room. The blanket wasn't very thick, but it kept most of what chill hung in the room away; it was a shield against the world, a small comfort to a frightened child who refused to let it go. She sighed.

The violence as of late had been overwhelming. The rise in destruction and terror had been a swift one. Xiomara couldn't comprehend what had started it, but it had felt as though she were living in a nightmare for the past week. They had seemed so infallible in their tiny cottage hidden in the hills far away from civilization. Something happened, though. The violence had found them. The anger engulfed them. Even the wild animals had screeched in warning, it seemed, their voices escalating late at night. It had disturbed Xiomara at first, but then she found it comforting. Now, however, the silence was all that could be heard, broken only by her sister's soft whispering.

"Ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen..."

Xiomara's head turned quickly to face her sister. The last note of the final number had been slurred and drawn out. Xiomara recognized that as the final point of consciousness on her sister's part. She envied her sister's ability to fall asleep so quickly, even if it took counting sheep to give her that restful slumber. Xiomara had tried that when her sister first started, but nothing had worked. Back then, the state of turmoil in Xiomara's life had been considerably less. She doubted it would work now if it failed to work then.

The silence began bearing down on Xiomara. A sharp ringing filled her ears, and her body became restless. She found the stifling heat of the blanket uncomfortable, so she flung it off. It landed at the end of the bed opposite of her head. The abrupt temperature drop had her body shivering, but she refused to cover herself.

She hated the silence. It was worse than the terrifying screams she'd heard only the night before. She missed the howling of the animals outside for even that was absent. She couldn't understand it. It became unbearable.

Xiomara glanced across the room at her sister. Her lumped form beneath the blanket was outlined in the moonlight, blissfully still and unaware of the torment her twin sister was currently feeling. Xiomara envied her that peace, almost regretted having wanted to disturb her. But she was selfish; she would only admitted it to herself. Xiomara needed comfort and knew that her sister would willingly give it disregarding what it cost her. Christiana was the caring one; Xiomara was the daring one.