Karen Van Der Zee - Midnight Rhythms

He sat up in bed, turned on the bedside lamp and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, please, not again,” he muttered. “Not again.”

After some time he got to his feet, pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went into the kitchen and poured himself a measure of Scotch. He carried it out onto the deck and drank it slowly, standing at the railing. He stared up at the stars, concentrated on his breathing and tried to empty his mind, to think of nothing—a meditation technique someone had taught him when he’d found himself in the derelict little hospital on that godforsaken island in the China Sea. Giggling little nurses, cats in the hallway. And then that funny little Buddhist monk.

And then, to his own surprise and relief, he found himself smiling.

The night air was pleasantly cool. Crickets and other insects cheeped and buzzed, vibrating the air. For a long time, he simply stood there.

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