It never refuses to amuse me that bats are the time old symbol of my kind and she loves them. She is the only girl I know of that at even the sight of something resembling a bats shape doesn't run screaming their oversized lungs out until the poor creature is killed. She knew for a fact that bats had lived (and still did) in her attic but, out rightly refused to do anything about it, against her parent's deepest wishes. Not only that but, she had converted the attic into her bedroom. The two actual bedrooms on the floor below her were one, for her parents and two, for her little brother.

Every night before she climbs into her four poster gothic styled bed, complete with red and black fabric hanging down to form a curtain, to sleep, she says goodnight to all of her bat friends as she calls us. She has named each of us, and no matter how we perch always gets it right. This is where I watched her every night, from my perch on the rafters above her prone form. Watching her chest's rise and fall as she took in air only to seconds latter release it into the night's air.

i know it's not much but, please review, it just randomly popped into my head around luch time and i had to get it always thanks for spending the time to even look at the page