Short Story: The Last Sound You Make

It is the noise I hear at night. The howl behind my window. I get up to look around. I am greeted with ugly yellow lights and the still streets. I go back to bed.

Of course, you do not see me. I scratch your window again, letting out my moan. This time you pull the covers over your head.

I cannot sleep. My nerves are thinning. That I am sure of. As long as I acknowledge that, I am fine. Or so I think in this state when the tick of the clock is slipping to the side of dawn.

You toss and turn....