In the shadowy room, she watched time pass through a nebulous black form spilling across her field of view.
Darkness whispered inside of her and spread like a puddle of India ink on dry paper.
A cloud, a landscape, a signature, she oddly thought.
She twisted her body clock-wise, in an effort to halt the dark stain. Fabric entwined her torso, strangling her legs, trapping her arms. She wound back around, counter clock-wise, only to bind her limbs again, cocooned in hot sheets.
The grandfather clock chimed quarterly reminders of minutes, then hours, slipping away in the night.
Upon escape she barely noticed the edges of the black spill filling in to complete the flat space of sleep.