The Midnight Snack

The Midnight Snack.

My fingers tremble as I type I can scarcely believe a woman of my intelligence could find herself in this position. It is the seventh night in which my conscience robs me of peace. The bed sheets are knotted and damp with sweet perspiration. Instead of counting sheep I am counting wolves. A pack of wolves hot on the heel of their prey and it is me that they are hunting. Then I feel the warm breath on the back of my neck and it is then that I fall back down into my body deprived of sleeps sweet lullaby.

He sleeps next to me unaware. How I detest that he can rest. He smiles then quiescent upon a pillow of a clean innocence. In his sleep he reaches out to me trying to grasp my hand that is slick with sweat. I look upon my hand that same guilty hand that committed the crime. I wrestle then with my thoughts and to drown out the noise I reach for a shot of brandy. To which I have taken too, to keep by the side of my bed in a pathetic attempt of self medication. The bitter taste distracts me for a while and the noise in my head is not so loud.

I see the dawn colour the sky. The morning I dread for I know he will awaken. Will he think differently of me? Will my reputation in one action be reduced to a smouldering pile of ashes? His hatred I could bare and his contempt. Yet one thing I know that disappointed look in his eyes now that, that is what terrifies me. When I was a child I was afraid of the monster under me bed and all those fears pale in comparison to the exquisite terror that has me in its grips. My heart is beating furiously I hear the rhythmic drumming of palpation that mirrors the clicking of the clock. I try to banish the memory from my mind but it replays and I am powerless to resist the pull that forces me to relive my actions.

It was midnight, the witching hour. How I laugh at the poetic irony. How stealthy I stole more elusively like a black cat. I used the shadows to mask my frame. I was aware of the floorboards that creaked. How carefully ohh how so very carefully I did tread. Using the minimal impact of my weight. There was no light and I needed no light to guide me on my way. For my lust burned more than the miser’s passion for the possession of gold. I wonder if senses are more acute in darkness? For I am sure robbed of my sight my hearing increased acutely. Then I heard him groan in his sleep and my heart rattled like a bird in its cage but then he let out a soft snore and I was reassured then of my deception. He knew not that I had gone. Down the stairs I gilded you should have seen me like a ballet dancer with grace I glided. Arrogantly I stalked the hall nothing would stand in my way. I knew instinctively where he kept it. Did he think me a fool? That I would not know? I knew all of his hiding places. The silver of the moon lit my way like an unholy rainbow a moonlight ray ended where it lay like a pot of gold. Now it was mine all mine.

“Beep, beep, beep” the alarm clock rang and as my mind was brought back to reality my hand hit the alarm clock. He then stifled a yawn “Good morning love, did you sleep well?” I did not reply for horror had made me mute. Now he would know. God it was me it was me. I ate the last of his favorite discontinued cookie.