Loss of Breath

The cold stillness usually accompanied by the hum of crickets, sometimes tremors of feet moving along. Lights illuminate throughout the house, and there is a slight unease. The question of why this disturbance at an unusual hour lingers. Intricate, this moment is controlling yet mindful, wielding such a ridiculous perceived buffer that it eases the blow. Yet when my name is called at night, there is no horror as to where I am to hide. The hastiness of the calling and the timing as well makes the perceived logic fire up. There is no time for thinking. There is a jolt before the rush. The headboard pushed to the wall and the feet up in the air, and the only next stage is the tiled floor.

Nothing is without a past. Everything has been clustered for a long time, oncoming presence itself becoming. I remember the last time it rained not around but in me, my head planted on the wall, sitting on the restroom floor. The sink ran steady. I went to wash my face, and then suddenly a stream of my own came rushing down. There are human cycles that are created that we are not able to discern, and some we can, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor. The intoxication of giving it all away while the core pulls me towards it. Heaviness that does not disappear with the usual distractions.

It happened because of that unfortunate moment. Trance was upon me, yet I could feel the temperature of the room, not fully awake but apt. A mild sound fueled with palpitations. I see my father in the dark. He cannot stand properly, and yet he is able to limp around from his room and turns on the lights as well. There are tears coming down his eyes. He held his neck like it may pop at any time. Ambiguity all around me. I am not trained, nor do I understand. I hurried to accompany him, holding him. I felt his heart rush, a moment he gasps and at the other there is none. All the things to do, but nothing I am able to muster, and in this rare moment when it is my time to aid, still he guides me towards his back. I punch as hard as I can until he recovers his breath, and then he just leaves.

If you got called by your name at midnight, what would you do?

I would rise without thought, as if the midnight air itself had pulled me upright. I would arrive as the person they need, not the person I am.

Midnight Letters Prompt #24: If you got called by your name at Midnight, what would you do?

P.s: The image is my own.
@corpsekaizen
It is 1 am for me right now,