Assignment for my creative writing class: show one character observing another who is asleep.
Despite Letterman talking to his guest on the TV, her eyes are closed and her breathing slow and shallow. I glide over to the remote and, with a bit of effort, push the power button. Then I turn to look at her.
She’s curled up on the couch hugging one of Raymond’s shirts. It’s been almost three months since I killed him, and she still clings to his memory. But at least the sadness that she wears during the day is gone from her face. She is relaxed, at peace.
I would like nothing more than to lift her up and carry her to her bed, but such is not within my power. So I just float above her, watching her.
Her eyes move randomly beneath her eyelids, and her lips curve in a ghost of a smile. She’s dreaming, and I wonder if she is dreaming of him. She must be.
I wish I could touch her dreams, see what she sees in them, feel what she feels. Perhaps in her dreams I could make myself appear to her, but such is not within my power. Not yet.