Night World

She walked outside to see the lights of the distant city in the cool, quiet night. The blues, the reds, and the occasional bright yellows. All of the neon reminded her of the serenity of darkness. She took solace in the quiet, delicate movements of a flame and this was brought to mind as she speculated avoiding the outside world altogether.

She stepped back into her little hovel, taking in the smell of mold; there was not much ventilation in her corner of the complex, but she loved her petite hole in the wall. The moss that crept into her doorway, the cracking paint near the whitewashed moulding towards the floor, her torn curtains so sheer that she wondered the reason for their hanging in front of her painted windows. She loved all of it. It was comforting, but only in the serenity of the darkness.

She ran her hand over the brass door knob, turning the hemisphere just enough to hear it squeak. She loved the echoing of the metal thing in her hand; the cold of the mined ore, the sting of the quiet, cold object reminded her that she still lived. She curled her toes into the cushioned welcome mat and waited for the wind to tell her it was time to conceal herself.

She closed the door, allowing her eyes to adjust, the power was cut off months ago, but she liked it that way. Once her eyes adjusted, the woman sauntered swiftly to her spot: a couch which had sunken in, slightly resembling a nest; the hay sticking out of the cushion closely mimicking a birds dwelling.

She nestled into her lump of a nest and spread her arms out as wings, she breathed in the surprisingly clean air and closed her eyes. The next morning, her hair - a mop of black curls - stuck to the left side of her face, she climbed out of her nest and lay in the bath, watching the tub fill up to the rim and overflow.