Midnight rearrangements [A Gwyn short story]

Soft whimpers and cries filled the pitch black darkness from behind her eyelids, and despite the softness of the sounds they were so loud to Gwyn’s ears. Desperately pushing the palms of her hands against her ears to cancel out the noise was a futile effort, because it remained as loud as before. It was almost as if the sound was inside her head, rather than around her. The cacophony of quiet voices never changed, it was always a mix of people of all ages. You’d hear the fervent murmurs for salvation from elderly, the cries for their parents from children's voices and the uttermost deafening silence from those who had lost hope.

Coldness started to seep into her bones, too. One that made you believe that you’ll never be able to warm up again. But with the light devoid from all around, it was no wonder that there was an Arctic coldness around. The darkness was so vast, that she wasn’t able to see her own breath in the coldness or her own limbs for that matter. She knew this because she had tried to look around to see where she could possibly be, but the darkness was the same whether she had her eyes closed or open. Shivers violently raked up her body from the cold as the voices started to gradually grow louder and louder. Gwyn shrank into herself, hoping that if she’d make herself as small as possible that she’d be able to disappear. Maybe the darkness could swallow her up and release her from this emotional torture.

But instead, the icy coldness seemed to get worse and the voices even louder. For all she knew, they were all standing right next to her and yelling. Crying for their loved ones, asking her why them, pleading for her to put them out of their misery. Still, Gwyn couldn’t do a thing but wishing herself away. Amidst the now loud voices, the whimper of a little girl cut clean through it all. All the other voices faded instantly, leaving the bodiless voice to be her sole companion in this hellish darkness.

Uiseag bheag dhearg na monadh duibh
Na monadh duibh, na monadh duibh
Uiseag bheag dhearg na monadh duibh
Cait do chaidil thu'n raoir 's an i?

The little girl had started to sing, her voice soft and broken as she uttered words that Gwyn could not understand. Despite that she did not know what the words said, she felt herself coaxed into opening her eyes and removing her hands from her ears. There, barely visible to her eyes, was the faint outlining of a child. She looked too thin, too defeated and too broken for her age and Gwyn’s heart broke for the little girl.

Chaidil mi'n raoir air bharr nan tonn
Air bharr nan tonn, air bharr nan tonn
Chaidil mi'n raoir air bharr nan tonn
Ach o bha mo chadal cho sgith!

A rocking motion followed, possibly as if she were sitting in a little rowboat that was carried by gentle waves. Unknowingly tears had started to gather and fall. Reaching out for the little girl, Gwyn stretched herself as far as she could and when her fingers graced the ice cold shoulder of the little girl, she turned around. It shouldn’t have been possible, but chocolate brown eyes met her own. Long dark lashes framed her eyes, eyes that held so much fear and hopelessness that Gwyn wanted to openly cry for her. She couldn’t possibly imagine the horrors that this child had gone through to make her eyes look like that. The little girl seemed to study her, possibly wanting to know how Gwyn looked so healthy compared to her. How long had she been in this hell? Her brown eyes tickled an odd sense of familiarity, but Gwyn didn’t know any girls around her age. She didn’t have any nieces, not even twice or thrice removed so why did it feel like she’d seen those eyes before?

The little girl’s lips started to move again, fervently so, but this time it was too soft for Gwyn to hear what she was saying. She was about to ask her to speak up, to speak just a little louder so that Gwyn could understand her, but the little girl beat her to it and raised her volume.
‘’Feuch an cuidich tu mi.’’ Again, speaking in the language that Gwyn didn’t know. She wished she knew, so that she could answer the girl instead of staring at her in defeat and feeling remorseful. But the little girl didn’t stop, she kept on repeating that same sentence over and over, raising her voice every so often until she was nearly screaming at Gwyn.
‘’Feuch an cuidich tu mi. Feuch an cuidich tu mi. Feuch an cuidich tu mi. Feuch an cuidich tu mi!’’ Her broken voice sounded so sharp, as if shards of broken glass were assaulting her. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears again, hoping to drone out the little girl and her shrieking voice. A wet warmth started to coat her hands, and Gwyn released a whimper of her own. If she could find her voice, she’d beg for the girl to stop but she remained soundless while the cries of the girl intensified once more before it died out abruptly.




Waking up with a start, Gwyn shot up in an upright position with a silent scream stuck in her throat. Her chest heaved heavily as she felt cold sweat coating her skin, making her hair and the top she slept in stick to her in a suffocating and sickening manner. Her blanket was impossibly wrapped around her legs and the sensation vaguely felt like shackles. Panic rose and clawed at her, making Gwyn kick her blanket away and free her legs. Her heartbeat started to settle down a fraction and her vision became focused enough for her to recognise that she wasn’t in some pitchblack hole, but still sleeping on the uncomfortable couch in the EFA headquarters. The nightly sounds from Erast were muffled, and mingled with the sound of her own loud breathing.
‘’Fuck.’’ Bringing her hand up to swipe away the hair that stuck to her forehead, she flinched away when she felt the iciness from her fingers on her skin.

It had been a nightmare, again and iIt hadn’t been the first time that she had this nightmare either. It recurred, more often than she’d like. This particular nightmare always left her feeling so incredibly sad and forlorn that she rarely managed to get back to sleep afterwards. Blindly patting around for her phone, Gwyn grabbed onto it the second she felt the device underneath her touch. The brightness of the screen stung and made her squint her eyes as Gwyn checked the time. Once her brain actually processed what her eyes saw, she let out a groan. It was a quarter to three in the morning. 2:43 fucking am. She barely slept three hours. Gwyn knew that trying to sleep again was futile, because she wasn’t able to shake off the remnants of her nightmare. The singing had been new, and so had the little girl screaming at her. Maybe that’s why she felt so rattled and why her heart refused to lull itself back into a normal sinus rhythm.

Sighing, Gwyn swung her legs over the edge of the couch and rested her elbows on her knees so she could cradle her head in her hands. She could still hear the song, replaying over and over in her mind. Licking her dry lips and pushing her hands in her hair, Gwyn looked around the living room. She was in desperate need of a distraction, something to get her mind off that stupid song and the nightmare in general. Later, she would write it down in that journal that Cadmus had given her. It could be irrelevant, or not but there was a small kernel of need to write it all down. Was it possible that if you wrote down a nightmare that it would never return? If so, she was going to write it all down in so much detail that her brain couldn’t possibly cook up another one.

The feeling of her parched lips extended to her throat, making Gwyn desperate for a glass of water. Quietly, she stood up and tiptoed her way to the kitchen. The walls at the EFA were thin, and it seemed like any sound carried itself around through the whole building. If someone walked around with just the tiniest bit of elephant feet, you could hear them from the bathroom. Now, Gwyn knew that she didn’t have feet made out of lead but she still threaded nearly soundlessly. Fetching herself a glass, Gwyn then walked over to the sink to fill up the glass to the brim. After she emptied the glass, Gwyn placed it in the sink before turning around and eyeing the kitchen. She remembered when she tried to make the curry and lentil soup, emphasis on trying because her body had decided at that exact day that her period should wreck her body. With that also came the memory of how she couldn’t find a thing because there was no logical placement for anything in this kitchen.

After stewing over how men should never be allowed to arrange a kitchen, an idea popped up. Taking another look around the kitchen, she mentally recounted where everything was currently placed and where she would place it. Softly biting down on her lower lip, Gwyn contemplated how badly everyone would hate her if she rearranged the kitchen. Maybe she’d be doing them a favour, for it seemed that some people just threw everything in the drawers and cupboards. Gwyn weighed the pros and the cons but aside from having an organised kitchen, she hoped that doing so would distract her enough to forget the nightmare and maybe catch a few winks before the others woke up. Deciding it could do little harm – and if they really hated what she’d done they could always put everything back to where it was – she started to gather all the dishtowels and spread them out on the counters, albeit folded. This way she hoped it’d make less noise when she placed something down on the counter. When every towel had been placed on the counter, Gwyn started pulling out the contents from the cupboards as quietly as she could and went to work.

When the rays of morning sunlight started to filter through the shutters that were placed in front of the windows, Gwyn softly closed the last cabinet door. After she had removed all the contents from the cupboards and started on her little rearranging project, she had soon found herself in a comfortable trance of sorts. It had taken her a few minutes at first to decide what placement of which items were most logical, but once she had formed a plan and started putting all the items in its new spot everything around her seemed to fall to the background, including her own thoughts. She had worked as quietly as she could, careful to not have pots and pans clash or items fall on the ground. It could still be very likely that someone had heard her rummaging around, but no one had come into the kitchen to yell at her for making noise, so she guessed she had done well enough in terms of staying quiet.  Oddly enough, Gwyn felt very satisfied and somewhat proud now that she finished. She had placed the cups, mugs and glasses on the lowest shelves so that she wouldn't have to use the counters as a jungle gym again if she wanted to have something to drink. The pots and lids were actually in the same cupboard, and paired. She’d done a good job, if she was allowed to say so herself. Returning to the sink, Gwyn picked up the glass she had used and gave it a quick cleaning before drying it off with a dish towel and placing it with the others. With nothing else to do, Gwyn decided to go back to her makeshift bed. She could pass the time by mindlessly scrolling through whatever app until the others awoke. Laying down, she picked up her blanket from the floor and draped it over herself before getting comfortable –as much as she possibly could on the old lumpy couch– and grabbing her phone.

By the time the first of the refugees started to walk into the living room she was dead tired but awake and guessed she looked as haggard as one could be with no sleep but at least Gwyn had temporarily forgotten about her nightmare. At the confused sound coming from the kitchen, Gwyn guessed that someone was looking for the coffee mugs.
‘’Cupboard on the left from above the sink.’’ She said, hearing the footsteps shuffle through the kitchen before the designated cupboard got opened and a mug was fetched. With the coffeemaker placed under said cupboard, it seemed logical to Gwyn that the mugs would be placed above it. An approving hum sounded from the kitchen, making her smile faintly. Finally, she felt like she’d done something beneficial.

Translations from the song:

Little red lark from the black moor
The black moor, the black moor
Little red lark from the black moor
Where did you nest last night?

I slept last night on the ocean waves
On the ocean waves, on the ocean waves
I slept last night on the ocean waves
Oh my sleep was restless!

Analogue translation: Please help me