When I was young, I used to lay under the covers and clench a muscle in my jaw that made the ever-present hissing in my ears rise in pitch, just for a moment, and then fall to something like a ringing rain, something that sounded like what the thousands of tiny pinpricks in my vision looked like in the dark. Hiss. Clench. Ring. Rain. Sleep.
Category: writings
Kimberly Horton’s personal writings – sometimes fiction, other times non-fiction, quite often a little metaphysical.
