Almost Japanese

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Sarah Sheard. Almost Japanese

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Almost Japanese

Sarah Sheard

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I pulled the covers up to my chin and rolled onto my back. From my bed by the window sill, I could see the stars straight above me. It was like sleeping outside but much cosier. A soft rain began to fall and the window sill gave off a damp wood-work smell. My sheets and pillow smelled good and I listened to the water gurgling down the eavestrough. It was at that moment, feeling so safe and peaceful, when suddenly another feeling swept over me – of disappearing into the darkness, of my parents, of everyone alive vanishing, rolling out the window, evaporating like rain. Death was night that lasted forever. How much time did I have before I turned into mud and got rained on and walked over by strangers?

Before skull and bones?

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