A cold wind blows pounding rain against the window. Metal hits metal, rhythmically, like an alarm clock ticking.
The first sheep suddenly crashes straight into the hedge. Using power, associated with larger animals, it quickly smashes its way through into the neighbouring wild meadow. Fearfully, it looks back to check if the wolf is still on its tail.
A smaller sheep runs desperately up to the gap, jumps, but catches its forelegs on the sharp branches. Trapped and bleeding, its incessant bleating disturbs the flock behind.
Now all the sheep are pushing and barging. Some of them rush towards the narrow gap in the hedge, smacking into the little one’s newly coloured red fleece.
The farmer’s dog sails over its pen wall and races towards the four legged frenzy. The barking adds to the chaos and desperation.
A siren starts blaring in one of the farmhouse bedrooms. The hallway lights up and a searchlight stretches aggressively across the muddy yard. The farmer throws opens the front door, loudly whistles his dog and reaches for the keys to his gun cabinet.
The sky darkens and a rumble of thunder approaches from the distance. For a brief moment all the animals freeze, as if waiting for the flash. Lightning or gun shot?
I lift my head off the pillow, look over at the damp patch on the bedroom wall, check my racing pulse and decide that counting sheep doesn’t help with my insomnia.
Published: Ellipses Zine
