The condensation on my window refracts the yellow glow of the motel's vacancy sign, illuminating my room in uneven patches. Outside I can hear the soft, irregular, pitter-patter of raindrops colliding with my roof. There is warmth and breadth, almost comfortable in its humanoid shape. It's wiry stings tickle my nose, and the smaller appendages attached to its larger appendages intertwine with my own. Uneven and ragged breathing nearly downs out the tinny piano waltz playing on my laptop.
Shadows fall unnaturally in my room, always have. It had taken a while for me to discern where the silhouettes fell from. Why the outlines shaped themselves as they did.
I listen to the music crescendo and piano, and my mind wanders.
I wonder if the empty face staring at me from the corner of my room will go away and hide again.
I wonder if the thing in my bed wants asylum, or more.
I wonder if I'll ever fall asleep.
