Osiria Rose [✓] - MAJOR EDITING

4 - Angel of Death

What would you do when you suddenly wake up in the middle of the night?

Going to the kitchen to eat something light or force yourself to sleep is sometimes the only option.

Yet what causes one to abruptly stir awake from their deep slumber?

Waking up past midnight is always a routine for me. It is the norm that I've grown accustomed to, which is the process for my wandering thoughts to start again. I would rush to the toilet to throw up the bile deep down from my stomach and cry in the process. The pain would be too burdensome on my stomach and my head.

Sometimes, I don't even reach the bathroom on time and grab the bucket.

Sometimes, I don't grab the bucket on time and throw up on the floor.

Sometimes, it hurts too much to hold it in. Waiting until it gets better will only worsen the twisting sensation in my stomach.

Painkillers are the temporary antidote for resuming a peaceful slumber, only for it to start again the next day. It is an endless cycle that I've grown accustomed to.

I feel disgusting at times, weak, helpless and confused.

My mind is awake, as usual, and my eyes are met with the plain flat ceiling. Blurred shadows of the shaking tree branches wave on the surface, where the gentle breeze whirls against the glass window, screaming a familiar wheezing tune.

The presence of the throbbing headache faintly lingers, but it isn't a big of a nuisance.

I slowly sit up and pull the covers off of my waist. My arms are heavy with fatigue and so are the patches of sweat stuck on my back. Despite the cold temperature from the spring weather and with the air conditioner switched off, it's no surprise I'd wake up drenched light in my own sweat.

I blink carefully, processing the fact that tonight will be different than other nights. If I believe enough that I wouldn't throw up dinner's remains, I can go back to sleep in peace.

"Ahhhh—"

The acquainted and muffled blood-curdling scream causes my heart to race. I grab for the ends of my bedsheets to keep myself from tearing up. Loud frantic sobs fill the room from the other side and my heart becomes heavy at the burden on my Mother's shoulders.

It has been years, too, since the death of my older sister. That is a wound that neither of us can forget anytime soon. Even numbing the pain with the constant reminder that she's in a better place will never replace the missing presence in this house.

I try to imagine her presence and how the memories fill this house with some essence of warm light.

There may have been times when we lacked understanding between one another. Fights may have been coerced due to disagreements. Silent treatments were quite a norm for a while until we all reminded ourselves that life is too short to remain bitter.

"My daughter ... oh, my dear daughters,"

Tinged with the fear of losing another child simply brings immense pressure onto Mother.

A domino effect is what I like to call our series of tragedies. The events lead to bigger issues, although they tend to draw apart at a longer period. Perhaps there were past sins that have to be atoned for and suffering is the consequences.

I swing my legs across the bed, observing the thin pair of legs hanging from the bed. I shift forward, the cold surface comes in contact with the base of my foot. They are a pair of supports filled with relentless lethargy.

Pushing my body to stand up, I drag my legs towards the door in brisk and slow steps. The cold smooth tiles bring chills around my body. It shocks my senses at every small step, stripping the fatigue away bit by bit. However, the pounding headache isn't present at the very moment.