Beams of light sprawl across the barriers keeping the domain enclosed, touching down on the base in a particular formation, enhancing the lumps within the carpet. Captured in a moment of beauty and terror within the prison that once was my room. No longer a secure or diplomatic dwelling; clangor of the church clock beyond my window, the dance of shadows enclosing every corner and crevasse; avoiding the jolts of light as though playing hide and seek with the moon. The provocative feeling in my stomach, to turn my face contiguously to the illuminated panes lurches at me, yet the stubbornness of trying to keep sedentary defeats me. Thinking is what my entire mind only permits me to do when I’m bound to my bed, my eyelids try to catch at each other; but the force of the vivid image doesn’t consent the command. Hearing slight footsteps and murmured voices gives me equanimity. The corroboration of if someone is there yet, and I’m incapable to obtain his or her comfort from the pernicious fear that has lured me. Each night I’m redundantly ordered to bed promptly at eight o’clock, each night my heart trembles with the words “bedtime”. Heavy, gauche feet carry me up, diverting to the bathroom. I take my time while preparing for bed, which includes: brushing my teeth, taking a shower, brushing my hair, and finally getting dressed into the dowdy pajamas that my mother bought me. My hand reaches for the handle and rests there, “Twenty minutes!” mom shouts from down stairs, “I can’t hear you walking to your room.” That was the final setback from trying to procrastinate going to bed. “I’m going now.” The words slur from my mouth with a murmur of the last word. The terror has accrued up; the fight has been crushed within me as the instruction for my clammy palm to turn the handle is given. Slowly, the door opens and I maneuver from within the bathroom. Curling my toes on the softness of the carpet, which holds my weigh