Having not left the bed all day, and fresh out of peach cobbler, I can only wait. I wait to see the sun fade. I wait and see mold grow upon the string cheese packages I have left upon the floor.
Wide-eyed I stare into the darkness. A crack in the door allows a dull gray light to creep in. The light holds voices so soft you can barley hear them. I think they are talking about pies and celebration - but it is an evil sort of celebration, the kind you don't tell mom about. And the pies are made of the skin and blood from a badger's neck.
Then as expected - like it always happens in these dark times, these night times - the door creeks open and the shadow appears. Back lit and swaying gently, it softly whispers two words... "hold me."
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