Adulting

By Annie Spratt

It was the blasting sound of the trains running through the night that reminded me my time was up. It wasn’t that I graduated yesterday or that I’m never going to talk to any of those people again. I can remember that moment clearly, as the horn got louder I could feel my heart and mind narrow until all I could see in my vision was my body in the mirror. Contorted and misshapen, I was a monster, and monsters didn’t breathe normally. And as that thought finished my breaths got shallower, sweat ran out of my skin and my eyes didn’t blink because monsters did not blink. I stayed that way until I couldn’t hear the horn anymore. I have to get up and go to work in four hours because I am an adult. And that’s what adults do.