A Bedtime Story: [short fiction]
I'm sitting up in bed. The light is low. Outside my window in the soggy paddock, the night is replete with the calls of frogs. A quiet yet persistent rain caresses the window. I gently pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. My eyes are closed. An observer may assume that I'm quietly reminiscing about my day, perhaps even engaging in a mindfulness practice, weird though it might look. In fact, a whirl of colour behind those closed lids distracts me. I'm not meditating or training my vagus nerve. I'm searching for answers. Or perhaps I'm looking for the right questions, some of which I don't even know I don't know. It's a testing time trying to get to the bottom of my existence. And the existence of those to whom I feel close. Not to mention the other eight billion, give or take, who may also wonder how it is that they have come into existence. Without a choice in the matter. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, counting the moment...
