of silent graves

chapter 4: cloistered walls

It is a privilege to close our eyes and go to sleep in a warm bed. It is a special time to push away all of the bad and wretched things that have plagued us during the day. It is when delightful dreams come and comfort us in our distress of whatever it is that is making us unhappy so. It is when we are able to escape the harsh reality of life and embrace wishes and desires we keep under lock and key in our hearts. In short, sleep is fundamental for one’s sanity.

Snoring away serves two purposes: One function is that when one has gone to sleep, and has awoken the next day, one is usually pleased to have full energy from a well-needed rest to perform work throughout the day. The second is that they are able to continue on with amiable and content feelings without crabbiness or short-tempered snaps. The equation is simple: Sleep equals no foul mood.

Of course, a disproportionate amount of anything will lead to chaos and unbalance. Too much food will cause an unhealthy lifestyle of gluttony and obese weight issue, not to mention heart problems. Living profligately with an extreme load of money will end in the sin of avarice and the tragic life of a miser, and most often, a lonely and desolate death. Sleep is no exception.

Whenever I find myself in state of undisturbed bliss, it is achingly hard to severe myself from that detachment and return to consciousness. It is only through unconsciousness that I am able to piece clues from the previous day. Dreams can be a sort of outlet for me as I try to understand what is troubling me, for it gives me the time to decipher the hardest things. How strange it is for the human mind to remain active in solving enigmas whereas the body has already gone.

Unfortunately, I am often disrupted from this mysterious mean by awakening too early, the final revelation of a masterpiece being yanked away before I can know what is. It is thoroughly frustrating, because I cannot remember any of my dreams once I wake up, and I am unable to be at peace until the hidden message open up for me.

And because I cannot finish my dream I am having now, I cannot know the reason why Warren was screaming in my dream…

I woke up to the sound of glass being scraped across, resounding in the most unearthly and shrill cry of an animal being tortured. Drowsiness still prevailed, and I was tempted to go back to sleep and figure out what the heck my dream meant. But from the moment I awoke, my memory was doomed to forget, and I lost track of the dream.

“Drat,” I moaned, covering my ears with the pillow. The voice was still yelling, and I wanted to stifle that unholy noise. Dawn has just begun to crack, the light barely streaming through the ugly purple curtains. What time was it? I recalled Mistress Handle saying that the children were to wake up at six o’ clock sharp. Much too early, I thought between the blurred distinction of alertness and stupor.

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, which still sagged from lethargy, and squinted across the other side of the room. Adam’s bed was empty. This brought me up to sobriety. The room was also depleted of the second inhabitant. Now, where the dickens could he be?

The voice rang out once more, this with a chime of a bell: the second warning. I dressed quickly, throwing on a simple shirt and trouser. I laced up my boots and ran out the door.

The other kids had already gotten up, and I took a quick overlook of all of them: There were eleven in all, not including Adam and myself. A somber girl of fourteen or fifteen looked the oldest; the rest were under the age, the youngest being a blonde girl of five having a dirty face but radiant green eyes. There were a couple of boys, too; one with a scar just above his eye, one with red lashes on his hand, and one with bandages wrapped around his arm and a crutch under his shoulder. That was all I could take in before the woman with the bell rang one last chime.