Insomnia (Karen/Frank)
Insomnia + Kastle
It’s too quiet, too much like home in Vermont used to be, the only sound the whispering of the trees insulating the little cabin from the rest of the world.
The silence keeps Karen awake, makes her jerk at every creak of the settling floorboards, every unexpected whistle of the wind against the extra layer of protective plastic stretched across the tiny windows.
She focuses her hearing, strains to make out the snicks and clicks of Frank snapping his guns back together as he cleans them, one rough-hewn log wall separating the two of them.
It’s hypnotic almost, whisper of the brush scraping song the inside of the rifle’s barrel, the soft swish of Frank’s fingers dragging an oily cloth against the metal.
Hours later, sound asleep, she barely stirs when Frank slides into the little bed beside her, the faint hint of gun oil pleasantly suspended in the air.