E.H. DeVolson

Chiral

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Yet screaming had become a nightly ritual for Shel. She would collapse onto the narrow twin bed, smother her face with her pillow, and scream. The exertion would leave her pharynx burning and her lips tasting of cheap synthetic cotton, but the tightness in her chest would feel just a little bit looser, and sleep would come just a little bit easier.