It Could be Dull: Betty Carmichael

Every night I sit alone noises are heard. Oh! But how my nerves jump. Pattering of persons feet pass my living-room window and the rumble sound of the window itself jumping because of it not being secured wholly. The rustle of wind in the trees outside, the old apartment block, add to the creaking sounds of the building’s shell. The barking of “Lady”, our landlady’s poodle, who constantly lets us all know of anyone approaching their own apartment door.

The hum of the fridge to tell that it is still alive, and the working condition. The tick of my clock radio as the minutes move on. And the cars of all kinds rumble, skid and whiz by down the back lane of the block. Life created by my mind and others as I see a quick turn of a head from them glancing through my windows. The slam of tenants doors when coming and going.

All in the hours of arriving from work and departing…only to sleep.