I stay by her side the entire night, hoping, wishing for her recovery. Her breathing comes raggedly, her chest taut with effort. I spend the blackest night hours wiping her forehead with a cold compress. It seems to calm her, and when break of dawn peeps through the window, her breathing regulates, and she sleeps peacefully.
Panic racks my mind. This is not human behavior. I have never heard of such temperamental illness. But I am exhausted. I gingerly rest my head on my knees, and fall into the deepest of sleeps.
While my mother rests and I regain strength, I dream of eyes so dark, the night is paled in comparison.
YOU ARE READING
When Wings Burn
Paranormal"Do you have a name?" "Harper. Just Harper." In a dangerously utilitarian world, Harper longs to experience the illegal. Whispers and hints of supernatural activity are everywhere, and yet one show of interest will mean immediate death. With no stor...
