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No Poker Face
Mercy It was the dreams that got her. Pulling herself out of a sound sleep filled with awful images, memories coming to life, winding their way around her mind and convincing her that she was there again, in those moments, that’s what sucked her down and kept her from moving forward, kept her trapped in a box where she couldn’t seem to escape. Even with her eyes open, staring up at a ceiling lit by the early morning light, wisps of those dreams continued to linger, foggy fingers that crept between her present thoughts and those memories that simply wouldn’t come. She’d been lying awake looking up at the ceiling for about fifteen minutes when there was a light knock on the door. The sky outside told her it was early dawn, the pinks, yellows, and oranges giving her a good idea of the time
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