A paragraph and a half left, but you're falling asleep. Your hand is over my head to keep me connected. I'd fall asleep right there, please. It's a big enough bed. Please, Mummy, like when I was a child and had night terrors. When I woke up screaming, when I woke up sobbing, when I woke up fallen out of my bed.
Do you even know that I still fear the nighttime? Not the dark, not when I'm out in it - because it's the earth then, it's the world, it's the way things are supposed to be. But in houses, it's as though electricity should always be on, lights turned down low at least for the evening. A night-light would glare, and if I leave my shade up a bit, well, the light is too bright, and I have to hide beneath the covers with fear . . .
From fear? Do I fear that itself more than . . .
