Sirens by Carla Marquez 

I OPEN my curtains having accepted that sleep is no longer available to me. Pulling back the blinds and revealing a half-opaque glass pane that extends from one end of the wall to the other. Foggy from the early morning frost. Standing in front of it, exposed, the waist up, I look out expecting the macabre scene I've conjured up in my half sleep. But am met with an empty lot.
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