100 Word Story: Bedtime

I worry the ceiling fan will become dislodged, fly through the air and wound me in some near fatal but exceptionally maiming way.

I didn’t tell this to the therapist. It wasn’t germane. He would dismiss my fear as irrational and tell me how only one ceiling fan in a million has ever injured a person sleeping under a white comforter with a tiny tear where it had gotten caught in the washing machine.

Outside, the window washer pulled his squeegee across the glass. He winked at me so I smiled at him. The therapist was busy with his notes.

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