I lay there in the dark, on the foot of the bed. My eyes trace the corners of the ceiling. The shadows drip down the walls, onto the floor. I watch the blades of the fan pour crisp air onto my nose, posters struggling to free themselves from the tacks on the wall. The candle on the shelf creates the vanilla and pumpkin aroma. It  swims through the air, tracing the picture frames, the pillows, my face. It wanders on down the hall and out the windows, looking for something, but is not quite sure what. I hear the occasional purr of the cars in the distance, and the dog that yaps at those who stay hidden and are not seen by others. The crickets sing to me their lullaby, the one they’ve sung and practiced since their youth. Their music floats on the autumn night’s air, flowing throughout the streets and houses, practically begging to be heard.

     I lay there in the dark, watching as the Stars drip in through the window curtain, battling the vanilla pumpkin Flame perched on the shelf. I watch the Flame sway with breeze in delight, unknowing of it’s final fate. The Stars surround her, lingering around to destroy her and become the only one to be admired. She dances and twirls like she’s never been happier, and the Stars wait silently. They wait silently till time dims her light. All at once, they consume her, leaving nothing but her empty breath.

     I lay in there in the dark with my mind stepping into thoughts that have never been thought. Stories yet to be told. Questions that stay questions. Why am I the only one who looks as I do. I look nothing like my sisters, and they are the ones who are admired by Them. I imagine what it would be like to be adored by Them, for Them to look at me as they do at my sisters. But I don’t dwell on it too long. Wishing doesn’t make it so. Your thoughts aren’t your reality, but here on the foot of bed, the Stars taunting me, it’s the only thing I need. It’s the only thing keeping my brother from sneaking away, from leaving our home. He acts perfectly  fine to Them, decent to Them even, but he hides in a hole. He hides his sorrow behind his back till it’s just him and the Moon. There, he pours his heartaches to her. I hear nothing of his secrets with the Moon, but they’re there. They’re there when the Moon is at her fullest, when she leans on the window seal and is close enough to hear him speak. Sometimes I hear their whispers, but sometimes she doesn’t come at all, leaving my brother to dwell on things that aren’t really there.

     I lay there in the dark, waiting for Time to click by. For the blooming Rose of Fire to come and brighten the ink splattered sky. I wait patiently for the glow of happiness to sink into the room and chase off all the Stars. I wait for the Rose of Fire to emerge over the mountains, to put the darkness in flames, and to welcome the cloudless blue sky. I wait and I wait, but she never comes. The Stars linger around me as they did to joyul Flame.

     I lay there in the dark, on the foot of the bed, wondering if I really matter. If my thoughts will be heard. If I’m really cared about. If my thoughts will one day inspire someone. Probably not, for after all, I’m nothing but a common house cat.