A Flicker in the Dark

by Stacy Willingham

A calmness settles over me, the same sense of calm that follows every time my tongue touches a pill. I don’t really know how to describe it, this feeling, other than pure and simple relief. The same relief you would feel after flinging open your closet door to find nothing but clothes hiding inside—the slowing of the heart rate, the euphoric sense of giddiness that creeps into the brain when you realize that you’re safe. That nothing’s going to lunge at you from the shadows.

attention inflated her the way it had always deflated me,

I’m a swallowed capsule away from a decreased heart rate and steady breathing;

I yearn for my mother’s voice. I desperately need her practical yet protective words to drape over my shoulders like a blanket in winter, keeping me safe. Keeping me warm.