Haunted by Sleep

This is from Draven’s journals. Poor guy. He’s a zombie. He’ll never sleep again . . .

The time between dusk and dawn is when I dream of sleep.

It’s been so long since I slept, since I dreamed; even longer since I last felt my heart beat. Just after dusk, if I’m in a place where I can see the stars, I look up and curse the God that made my half-life possible. I curse the day I let Konstantine talk us into his horror-ridden fantasies of stealing the country from those who sleep.

There was a time when I told him he was mad. Yet now the fruits of his labor surround me, like misbegotten, misshapen children. Through the miracle of television, I witness the plague that will swell our undead members. I watch bodies tumble into mass graves, see mothers holding dead babes in their arms. It’s more than even my dead heart can take.

When I see how close he is to success, I ache to close my eyes against it, take refuge in darkness, in sleep. Last night, I broke away from my aimless travels around the country, took lodging in a hotel.

Even though I tried not to see it, the room was so small, that I could not keep the vision of it out of my sight. The bed mocked me with clean, crisp sheets. My fury lashed out. I ran at it, flung the mattress against the wall, bent the metal frame into a twisted mass of worthless scrap. Then I sank to the floor, my head in my hands. As with every other time, it had been for nothing; sleep eluded me, as it has for nearly a century.

Then came the banging on my door, demanding entry. I emptied my wallet of ID, left it full of cash, and jumped eight stories to the ground.

I must unburden myself of this dark knowledge. I must not let this nightmare come to pass.

h. Raven

Raven’s Bookshelf

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~ by hravenstories on August 10, 2010.

2 Responses to “Haunted by Sleep”

  1. Hhhmmm… what does Draven know?

    I love these journal entries. Keep ’em coming.

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