Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
-"Spirits of the Dead", by Edgar Allen Poe
New Jersey. ‘Twas night; the dark sky was glooming over the sleepy town; the stars barely visible. Fearfulness hung in the air around a small, cleanly built house, the yard covered by trees. The weather was fair, but didn’t match the mood of the house’ inhabitants.
Drip drip drip… the faucet (being a nuisance), would not shut off completely.
The ruby haired woman was lying in bed; her partner, Max, slept soundly beside her, sprawled under the covers, tired from a long day of work. The woman was staring at the ceiling. Her eyes were wide, and bright; they were adept to staying open. The woman’s hands were clenching the sides of her face. She was waiting for something.
Drip drip drip…
Three o’clock. Four o’clock, Five o’clock. One might say the time passed painfully slow. The ruby haired woman sat up. Max awoke by the sudden movement, and placed her hand on the woman’s arm.
“You still cannot sleep, Hannah?” said Max, whispering softly.
“I’m going to get a glass of wine.” Hannah excused herself from their bed.
In the morning, their bed was still empty. Max tiptoed down the hardwood stairs, shouting out Hannah’s name. Max’s legs moved quickly and noiselessly as if she didn’t want to disturb the dreary silence that surrounded as she desperately called Hannah’s name. The floorboards creaked along with Max’s every step, as if it knew the pain that the two women were experiencing- one of them with insomnia and illness, the other with worry and doubt.
Max found Hannah, lying timidly against the wall, blood dripping slowly from the side of her head.
“Hannah!- What have you done?” said Max, with fright.
Hannah was unresponsive, which was a very disagreeable state. An hour later, the harsh bright lights of Princeton Plainsboro Hospital greeted Hannah.
It is now Day 1. Phase will end when majority votes are reached.



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