AT NIGHT by Craig Rodgers

AT NIGHT by Craig Rodgers

The clock reads 2:04.  The bedroom door is closed.  He stares. He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes.  The clock reads 2:09.  The bedroom door is open.  He closes his eyes. He opens them.  He stands and reaches out and he closes the door.  He gets back into bed. The clock reads 2:11. He closes his eyes.  

He opens his eyes.  The clock reads 2:36.  The bedroom door is open.  He stands and pads his slow way through blue dark to a bathroom at hall’s end.  He urinates with eyes closed. He returns to the bedroom, one hand shutting the door behind him.  He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes.  The clock reads 2:43.  The bedroom door is open.  He stares. Brow furrows. He leans and reaches and without getting up he pushes closed the door.  He stares another moment. He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes.  The bedroom door is open.  He sits up in bed, throws legs over the side.  His feet touch cold floor. He stares. He pushes the door closed.  He waits. The clock reads 2:49. The clock reads 2:50. The bedroom door is closed.  He curls his form back into bed. He stares. The clock reads 2:53. His eyes fall closed.  

He opens his eyes.  The bedroom door is open.  The clock reads 2:59. He stares.  He stares. The clock reads 3:01. He pushes closed the door.  He stares. The clock reads 3:05. The clock reads 3:08. He stares.  The bedroom door is closed. He stares. The clock reads 3:15. He stares.  The clock reads 3:30. The bedroom door is closed. He stares. He stares.


Craig Rodgers has an extensive collection of literary rejections folded into the shape of cranes and spends most of his time writing in North Texas. His newest release is novella The Ghost of Mile 43.

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