…she doesn't just cry, but other things too that give me heavy shoes.

Here is a quick morning prompt for you. Enjoy!

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Prompt: Alone in my room

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He stood half-wary out of my bedroom door and told me he loved me. Then he pushed the switch and slipped out with the light. When he’d gone his words hopped around me, on my mattress, and hung on the ceiling. They split as they leaped and splashed into one another again and talked over each other. ‘Love. Night. Good.’ The shadows ebbed and the low hum of my room turned up; a constant conversation with the blood in my ears, only I can’t hear them during the day. My humidifier whispered warm mist into the air. The miniature fan rattled inside my StarGazer 3800 as it projected the entire galaxy in a shifting dance of fiery blues and whites on the ceiling. A phantom paw plucked the carpet near the foot of my bed. I slapped the mattress, “Pssst—leave it!” I heard the cat retreat to my closet.

I turned over and pulled my feet up, careful to keep all but my head sealed under the covers. I wondered if he would stay this time; if Mom can handle it this time. She should, even if it makes her cry, because she cries no matter what, and she doesn’t just cry, but other things too that give me heavy shoes. Shoes so heavy, sometimes I can’t leave my room. Sometimes I make it down stairs or to school, but I don’t remember much when I go because the shoes are so heavy they’re all I feel and then I just want to lie down for three days when I get home. Maybe if Mom can handle it. Maybe I won’t have to wear them anymore, or if I do, Dad can hold my hand?