Eleven Eleven

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep...

Faye was surprised to hear these thoughts escaping from her soft lips in the formation of words. For these were her inner most desires. She awaited the separation of her soul from her body. Not that hers was unpleasant. For her body was the epitome of perfection, as the world saw it. A soft face with smoothed features, bright eyes you could lose yourself in. Legs that went on for miles and surely she wasn't lacking in the chest region, if you know what I mean.

It is Toronto. It is Saturday morning, 2007.

Suddenly awakened for a reason unknown. Faye rolls over and exerts all morning energy to barely raise her pretty face to see the clock on the headboard directly behind her. The large fluorescent green numbers encased in a metallic frame reveal the time of day: 11:11. The same as she had last seen it before she drifted into the peaceful world where everything was as she wished it. Faye was most content in her dream world. Only then, if you were lucky, could you view her seraphic smile. If she could only disappear into this fantasy she may not wake again until the clock ticked through all numbers and returned to the presently shown time.

With nothing to do and no reason to get out of bed she forces her body to remain prostrate. All the while inhaling the sweet scent lingering about the room. By this time all blankets had been lost to the floor's desire to be nearer to her. It called to her and grabbed at her like the rest of the world. Begging her to smile and harassing her for love. Subconsciously she turns from side to side, periodically adjusting the pillows to fit the curvature of her head. She tugs at her shorts and adjusts and readjusts her thigh-high stockings until they are perfectly aligned at a point of comfort.

She now knows that further sleep is only a dream but she fights the morning with closed eyes. The day is imminent, she thinks to herself. She is trying to fool her body that her mind is dreaming. But unpleasant thoughts of the real world divert her from such chicanery. She is reluctant to wake for the agony of life has become too much of a burden to bear.

She is distracted for an instant as her petite nose takes in the fresh encompassing fragrance. This redolent scent tickles her senses. Her wistful eyes focus on the flickering of a candle that had burned through the night. She stares as the flame dances in its glass world. She sees the struggling flame gasping for air and watches as it finally extinguishes itself on a thin metal disk which once held the wax of life. She closes her eyes. She thinks of the flame, she sees herself. She sits up and looks in the mirror. She sees herself. Even in the mirror the clock reads 11:11. She remembers the flame.