In The Forest Of The Night [FICTOID]

What if tomorrow never comes? she wondered.  What a glorious experience that wouldn’t be!

Though only eight years old, existential thoughts weren’t unfamiliar to her.

She began having them about eight weeks into her gestation.  Truth be told, most fetuses have them, but in the warm, comforting dark of the womb, existential thoughts appear terrifying, and most infants drive them from their minds, forcing themselves to forget.

She welcomed and embraced them.

In a few minor details, the motel room reminded her of her time in the womb.  It, too, was dark (by choice) and warm (again by choice). 

She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the sheets and blankets wrapped around her so only her face showed.  The radio broadcast a talk show in a foreign language; turned down low, it reminded her of the incomprehensible sounds she heard her mother and other people make while she gestated.

Ah, mummy!  Ah, daddy!  Where are you now? she wondered.  Where are you, indeed?

She sat facing the window, not the smashed TV screen.  Outside it remained dark, but she knew even with the curtains tightly drawn sooner or later the first tiny pinpoints of light would seep through and she’d be forced to deal with whatever the day would bring.

But that was still…tomorrow.

Right now she still sat comfortably on her bed, pondering…well, not her future, but the myriad possibilities facing her, possibilities that would soon collapse into a singular reality.

Soon…but not now.

The toilet flushed in the bathroom behind her, and for a brief moment light flooded the motel room until the bathroom light was turned off. 

She barely acknowledged the light and the sound behind her.

The ///smell///, however…

She heard the soft padding of four feet then the bed sagged under a massive weight.  The tiger’s hot breath -- smelling of liver and fish oil -- washed over her.

“How are you?” the tiger growled, not angrily, that was just the only way he could talk.

“I am,” she said.

The tiger waited for her to elaborate.  She didn’t.

“Thinking about tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

“It’s coming.  You know that, don’t you?  Like it or not, it’s coming.”

“I know.”

“It’s not like you can do anything about it.  I mean about it coming.”

“True.  But I can do something about it after it arrives.”

“True.”

The tiger sat on the bed behind her, licking his chops.  “Well, it’s late for me, and we’ve got a big day tomorrow, whatever happens.  I’m going to catch a catnap.”

Without waiting for her to reply, he stretched out on the bed and almost immediately began snoring.

The girl smiled, half turning in his direction.  Her hand reached out from under the sheets and blankets wrapped around her and caressed the tiger’s soft, soft fur.

Underneath the fur, his muscles felt like a coil of steel cable, but the fur felt soft.

She wondered what the day would feel like when tomorrow finally arrived.

© Buzz Dixon