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Jan 2010
Awake and alone the little boy lies. Darkness gathers, eclipsed only by the shroud befalling his soul.

He shakes, ever so slightly, then the crescendo grows.....gathering momentum with each passing moment. Soon, he shakes uncontrollably, as would a freezing man. He squeezes himself into an ever tighter circle, fighting in vain to stop his trembling.

He clamps his eyes shut ever tighter, so tight it hurts.... a futile effort to stop the hot tears beginning to streak down his face. Slowly his resolve melts, his scant remaining strength leaves him.

He sobs, gently, nearly silently. The walls come falling down, the fear rushes in. He presses face harder against the pillow, muting the sound of his cries. No must hear, no one.

Somewhere in the dark, cold chill of the night, his sobs cease. He drifts out of consciousness and into the abyss of dreams. His only escape, his only refuge.

All to soon, the bright light of the morning sun breaks through the night, announcing a new day. And his cold, stark reality begins anew.
Written by
David M. Winchester
730
     Jordan Robertson, JM and D Conors
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