Six & Eight

He moved his finger against the inner surface of the sheet and made a six with it, and then an eight. This was his go-to when the nightmares woke him up, which lately was all the time. He’d always felt comfort from the numbers six and eight, ever since he was a boy. He knows to most it sounds silly, but he believes he has a connection to them. He was born in the sixth month of the year, on the eighth day, and grew up to have six freckles across his right arm and eight across his face. He was number sixty-eight on every sports team by coincidence, and his younger brother is exactly six years and eight months younger than him. He sighs, taking a deep breath. His mom had just gotten into a car crash, and all he can see when he closes his eyes is her face laying in a hospital bed. He’d even begun attempting to stay up all night just to avoid the horror of what awaits him when sleep arrives. He takes six deep breaths and traces another six and eight into his bedsheet before sighing and attempting to battle sleep once again.