Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 19
3 O CLOCK IN THE MORNING
by Justine Railton
Two.
Two, three, four, five, six, seven.
I count the numbers in my head and on my fingers. Five hours. I can do that, it’s
enough. Two, three, four, five, six, seven. I check them off again on my right hand, hot
under the covers, just to make sure.
02:16am: The green numbers glare into the darkness, throwing a circle of light around
the alarm clock.
02:32am: Twenty-eight minutes to go. Close your eyes and at least rest them. Close
your eyes and maybe you will sleep for… 02:34am…twenty-six minutes? Twenty-six
minutes to get some sleep. My eyes close and I hear my heart beating. The swoosh,
swoosh, swoosh fast and loud inside my left ear that pushes into the thin pillow. I turn
onto my back, feel the pain in my breast and glance at the numbers as I turn.
02:47am: Thirteen minutes, just thirteen minutes now and it’s not enough. Not
enough time. Thirteen minutes. Ten plus three equals thirteen. Half of 13 is 7.5. Seven
and a half plus seven and a half. Seven and a half is not much more than five. Five
minutes and five minutes is nothing. It’s not enough time to sleep, barely enough time
to close my eyes. My eyes stick open; as wide as the day that looms ahead. My big, open
eyes search for the safety of the numbers.
02:48am and just four hours and twelve minutes before the day begins.
I force my eyes shut and feel the eyelids flicker and twitch. My eyeballs rove around in
their sockets, looking for something to do so I scrunch them up tight and feel my pulse
in my face, it invades my jaw and cheeks. Neon numbers pulsate behind my closed
eyes. I turn over again and hear snuffling, like the noise of a contented piglet,
emanating from the basket on the floor.
Don’t look. Don’t look in there. It might wake up. I look into the basket. The
streetlamp behind the curtains forces an orange glow into the room and I see him
squirm, his arms stretching up over his head before a tiny fist comes down and moves
towards his mouth. He hits himself in the face with the closed fist and his face contorts
into a monstrous rage. I watch as he keeps trying to stuff his hand into his mouth.
03:00am: The neon figures scream 03:00am.
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