Jon crawled to the corner
where a nest of blankets waited for him.
They smelled musty and stank of his sweat, sweat that came from lying in
the vault still hot from the day’s high temperatures and from the nightmares
that made him thrash these last three nights.
He snuggled in, trying not to think about his friends, his parents, of
anyone because that brought the crushing loneliness and fear too close. Instead he whispered, “Now I lay me down to
sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…”
He recited the prayer,
finding little comfort in the morbid words that had been taught to him with no
thought as to what a child might feel saying such things. “…and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord
my soul to take.”
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