The Quiet Ones Hurt More

Today I did not drive out. No torch. No dust. No cold wind in my face.

I sat at the kitchen table for a long time. The coffee went cold and I drank it anyway.

I sorted little bottles from last week. I wrote prices on little tags. My hands worked. My head went somewhere else.

It is a funny thing. Out there in the dark, I am busy. I am someone with a job. I have a reason. Here, with the sun on the floor, I am just a girl at a table.

I picked up the phone to call my dad. I put it down.

I thought about the person I left behind. I did not even let myself say their name in my head. Too much.

The scary thing is not the scorpions. It is a quiet day like this one. Nothing to run from. Nothing to run to.