Fiction
The Trauma of Obligation
Screams from the hilltop
Glen Mary stood on the high hill behind her home and screamed.
It was 3 a.m. and anyone within range of her screams would probably still be sleeping. If they were awake they might assume they were hearing a wounded coyote, a lone wolf, a stray dog.
Her screams were long but flat. She was trying to find the bottom of her pain, its jagged end.
Finding the bottom would require more than screaming but to date, this was her best, most fruitful means to any sort of relief.
She screamed until she could see someone turning on a light. On her hilltop she could see houses, maybe twenty, scattered on their acreage. No streetlights in this part of the world, so one could see the stars in the sky. Thousands of pinpoints of light, lots of twinkles.
Sometimes the twinkle was beautiful enough to send her back inside her house.
Glen Mary was tired of her sleeplessness. Sick of grief.
She’d tried everything. Warm milk. Graham crackers. Melatonin gummies. CBD oil. No phone or computer screen. Sleep hygiene was not helping at all.
Clean sheets felt too good and feeling good was insufferable.
