Whirring Room

Whirring Room

The air conditioning is out. But even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t matter. The heat and humidity seep through the walls. Their little black tentacles swirling and twirling through every little crevice.

I lay prostrate. A fan on a chair by my bed. The motor, a comfort, like the sounds of the womb.

I sleep. Better than I would have expected. The fan blades slice away the demons’ tentacles.

No dreams. No tossing and turning. Just sleep, in the whirring room.

[Weekly Photo Challenge: Muse, this doll and my daily experiences]

Categories: WordsTags: , , , , , , ,

Tourmaline .

Photographer of miniatures and writer on all things small.

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