The neon glare reflecting from my windowsill casts a spectral glow upon the darkened ceiling. Each scarlet shaft cleaves chiaroscuro whorls into the high-relief paint.
Furtively tracing the threads in my blanket, my fingertips graze across stitched quilting. I playfully visualize each desaturated hue.
My home murmurs lazily, creaking on weary joints. The steadfast dripping from some distant pipe beckons to my sensitized ears.
Rolling over, I cover my head to shut out the world. Sleep, please abduct me from this. Dreams, please deliver me to bliss.
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