Devonne Brown

“I can’t sleep,” I heard someone say, but my house was empty except for the cats. It must have been me waking myself up out of a nightmare. I can usually get out of a bad dream without bothering to wake, I guess the bombs going off in the dream were louder than I thought and woke me. It had to be the cats romping, one knocked the other off the bed, fighting. Madam got closer to me than Norris wanted her to be, jealous. 

I asked the phone what time it was, “3:12 a.m.” the Australian male voice answered. I got up and made coffee. Norris wouldn’t have let me go back to sleep. He’d already chased Madam down the hall and had come back to tell me he wanted cream. Bedtime was over, the sound of bombs bursting in air still rang in my head. So did the Star Spangled Banner. I put on some music and let it blare. “Firefall” came on. 

The coffee was hot and bittersweet black, the light in the family room, red. Had I seen blood in my dream?

“I can’t sleep,” I heard someone say again. I’m attuned to the spirit world, of course. I didn’t sit circle for years, and not learn a thing or two about hearing voices without recognizing a tortured spirit when I heard one. 

If you’d just close your eyes you’d be alright, I thought. I yawned and my coffee kicked in. 

I gave the cats their cream so they’d curl up somewhere and go to sleep. I was up for the duration. Fascinated with the dark and early hours of the morning, I heard Bonnie sing, the long dark strains of a cello, a log hit the roof of the room where I listened, and lightning flashed.