Fingers scraping powder as they screech down the dark chalkboard.

The slight creak of broken floor boards in your dark and empty cabin.

The earsplitting call of a speeding ambulance siren, close then gone.

The unbearable rasp of a page as your finger smudges upon the turning.

Ice rushing to reach your lower back when dropped through the top of your smudged shirt.

The impact of an unseen friend's hands, suddenly, alighting on your bony shoulders.

The realization that you had an audience to the song you'd just sung with reckless abandon.

Your body slithering as a chill swiftly travels from the nape of your neck, through your spine, to the hollow of your back.

A spoonful of steaming soup down your throat when outside is frozen by winter's zeal.

That one sweet-sounding lullaby, with too many plays, as it reaches the awaited crescendo.

You in a dark room alone hearing a screeching baby banging on its small cot.

Caught breath but lungs still full.

Heart thumping, crashing your rib cage apart.

Shivers down your spine, that only you can feel.

Chloe