The Little Girl

Seizing my dreaming hand, I am soaked from the dizzying black rain. Coating everything in coal ash. My long black hair covering my face like a curtain. I cannot contain my horror. I've run so long. Running from the Medusa. And now I cannot let go, or I will drown.

I pull myself up, but I find that I am lost again. The girl I once was. I keep trying to lose. The pain of that is too much. I cannot continue. I must sever myself away.

Mostly I dream of locked doors. And open windows.
And never looking back.