Illusive Peace

Her house is stifling.  The fan above her clicks a rhythm and she lays as still as she can, hoping for relief.

She pushes herself up, forcing movement that reverberates in her head. Walking through the rooms, she checks windows, praying for the breath of a breeze.

She loves this house. Here she nursed and nurtured her babies.  The walls show signs of life-- fingerprints and smudges.  Smiling faces, captured and framed, adorn the walls.

But, the walls are closing in and she retreats to the sanctuary of her room.  The thoughts are pressing, intensifying the pain in her head.  She tries with all her might to force them out. You're not welcome here. Still, they come. Persistent, they are. The fan beats in time with the judgements- 'not e-nough, not e-nough, not e-nough'.
 
She puts out the welcome mat, hoping for sleep.  Instead, she cries, curled into herself.

But, the day is like any other, demanding, not to be ignored.  Amazing how you can function when you're dying inside. Laundry, cleaning, errands, dinner. The demands, which she normally breezes through, are draining.

Finally, evening comes and quiet rules.  She retreats to the shower, her one solitary place.  The water is an insulator, covering the sound of her sobs. She hopes that no one hears.  The water runs over her, washing, cleansing, purging.  Time loses meaning and she sits in the spray until the water runs colder than her tears.

Back to her bed, cooler now.  She prays again for sleep. And peace. She drifts off to the sound of the fan clicking above her.



{This was written for GBE 2: Blog On's prompt for this week- "Peace"}