UNDER THE BED
By Randy Romero
I can’t sleep.
I’m
afraid to close my eyes.
Too
scared to move a muscle or make a sound.
I
can’t see it, but I can feel its sinister presence. I know it’s there, just out
of sight. Hiding, waiting to see if I show myself.
Two
can play at that game. I’m used to hiding or remaining out of sight. So I
remain quiet, and wait for daylight, when it’s safe.
It’s
funny, some people say I’m a monster. But that foul, terrifying creature
is the real monster.
He’s
eight years old and has dark blue eyes and shaggy brown hair the color of sand.
His name is Timmy, and he lives above my bed.
