I flipped the tv on, the same thing nightly routine that I’ve done since that age of 5. Every man I’ve ever dated called my fear of the dark irrational. I agree, but then again, I don’t care what they think. When you’ve been through my hell, you can complain. Until then, shut the hell up.
As I drifted off into sleep, that same nightmare crept back in. I hate this time of the night—the time where he still haunts my dreams and steals my peace. I don’t know why, after all these years, he still visits me.
I was five at the time. Nothing worried me but losing my favorite dolls. No one knew when they put me to bed that night that I would never be the same. Who could predict something like that?
I had been sleeping for about an hour when the glass broke. Not a loud shatter, but I felt every fragment as it hit my blankets. Paralyzed with fear as the hand reached through, I knew I hated sleeping under a window for a reason. My fears were coming true. The stranger wrapped his hand around my pajama top. The voice finally worked it’s way out, startling everyone in the house with my screams. His hand retracted and heavy footsteps as he ran from the crime.
Caught a block away, the man was beaten before the cops arrived. He was wanted for child molestation and abuse. Screams saved my life that night. Some say I was lucky that night, but the constant nightmares tell me otherwise.
Never take peace for granted. It can be gone before the sunrises.