The Ice Woman

The Woman in the Window

I thought I had done with her but then she comes back for me with her long ragged nails, pulling back the hair from my ears, whispering her darkness, saying why don’t you die bitch. The inside of her cold palms contain moving pictures which she places before my eyes, pictures of those who have been hurt physically, emotionally, mentally, those I had not been with during the time of their injury. Your fault, she hisses. She presses into my heart beliefs about loved ones being better off without me, my child being better off with another mother, my parents and sister being free at last. She twists my head to the medicine cabinet, reminds me of how I have saved up for this very occasion.

She keeps me awake all night looking for things. She makes me search my mind. She does this over and over and over. What I am looking for I can never remember. At night I am convinced I must stay awake or displease her to the point of oblivion. After a few weeks, I cannot feel the world through my senses, I cannot lock onto a thought or a word. The Ice Woman has a hold of me and she’s shaking me until my bones sift down through my frame. She is a trembling avalanche, covering me with her ice cloak, closing my eyes. Would that it feel so good to sleep, I think.

When the ice melts, and it has yet to stay frozen, I wake. I realize I have slept. She has gone.

2 thoughts on “The Ice Woman”

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