Moving Forward

The house was covered in the stillness of early morning, the kind that clung to the air like a thick haze, wrapping the rooms in an overwhelming hush. Tyrone sat on the edge of their bed, his shoulders drooped forward, his head held in his hands. The black out light inching in through the splits of the drawn shades scarcely touched him. He hadn’t rested much again, and the weight of weariness pulled at his movements. Bad dreams had clung to him like a moment's skin ever since that day. No matter how difficult he tried to shake them off, they continuously found their way back into his mind, inching into his dreams and turning them into unending, choking circles of fear.

Behind him, Judy mixed, her eyes shuddering open. She comes to her impulses, her hand brushing against the empty space adjacent to her. The coldness there made her scowl, and she sat up, her look settling on Tyrone’s slouched figure. She observed him for a minute, taking in the way his shoulders trembled with each shal