He appears again, hands touching my face.
"Why can't I see you?" He asks. I grab his hand, warm to the touch, yet cold. The sound of his voice was sad, desperate. I couldn't make out a face, just the shadowed contours of it. I wanted to find the source of this awful lighting and fix it myself, now.
I jolt awake and flail where I was, the front porch with my hand on the doorknob. My body was going somewhere, but, yet again, I woke before it could make it. Sometimes I wanted to see what it knew, what I didn't know.
But the light hitting my face told me it was morning, and I would have to wait a few weeks. I rush back inside to grab my bag, just a white cloth sack with a few items inside; a knife, soap, hair tie, twine.
The essentials.
I sling it over my shoulder and walk back down the s
