Something has fallen in this still, calm room.
A silent, blunt singular drop, echoing in waves throughout the room. The echoes, loud at first, then steadily declining; a decrescending mantra.
Not a breathing creature is the cause, it is the drop of a bright scarlet sentiment in a room filled with pale peaceful monochrome moonlight.
Eyelids flip open, glazed with plentiful, yet insufficient slumber; the shock of woken sleep dwells; Sandman’s foot is not yet out of the door.
The sound of the dropped sentiment slowly dissolves into nothing, nevertheless, it was there; a sly phantom.
It plays deftly in one’s sub conscience, soft and faded when sleep returns. The room is calm once more; moonlight proceeds to float on the walls.
A sour dream forgotten, it’s essence lingering pungent like forgotten food.
By Jade Elodie