#sleeping

Alone… You never have thought of the concept alone before, but as you are in your bed, unable to sleep your mind starts to wander. You think about what you did or what you are going to do tomorrow. Then, you start to think of darker subjects, subjects you wish you had never thought of. You wonder if you are the only one if the house awake at this hour. You wonder if you are the only one awake…in your room. Right there you hear small and subtle creaks in your kitchen.

-DATE CROSSED OUT-

I wake up feeling a small pain on my upper back. It’s tiny, but noticeable. I know what to expect now. It’s going to be yet another small scratch that seemingly came out of nowhere. My logical mind tells me that it was only me scratching my back while asleep, or my skin just being too sensitive for the sheets and getting cut. I believe my mind, but I still have an eerie feeling about these small scratches. I get up, hobbling over to my bathroom door, sliding it open, hopping up on the counter,…

It was a cold, rainy day in December. There was less than a week until we got out of school for winter break. Usually my teachers don't give us work before a break, but my bastard of a History teacher decided he'd assign us a 2000-word report due the day before we got out. I knew I wasn't going to be there then; I was going up to the mountains in North Carolina to spend Christmas and New Years' in Lenoir with some old friends I hadn't seen since I moved.

Coffee is a damned thing. I hate the wretched bitter stuff, it was never compatible with my mild palate - and yet as of late I've been up to almost four cups a day. Might as well stick a caffeine IV in my arm. In fact, I'd greatly prefer that. But right now my fondness of coffee is really the least of my worries. I have to stay awake.

"I had a weird dream last night." "A really. Weird. Dream..." ------ My name is _______. I'm a good guy I think. And I like good people. That's pretty much my sole criteria for deciding if I want to hang out with someone. And I pride myself in my ability to tell good people. Once I decide you're good people, we’re good. Friends for life.

A hard copy of the following document was discovered in a disused office suite on the outskirts of Manchester, New Hampshire. Extensive research has so far failed to turn up any information about the former tenants or the provenance of the “report”.  The investigation continues. – A. A. EXECUTIVE SUMMARY This after-action report recommends the complete and immediate abandonment of high-value target SODA BOTTLE despite the costs to be incurred by the Organization as a result. BACKGROUND

I recovered from a coma I had a while back; I can’t recall the date, but I was driving back from a convenience store for groceries, and one of the overhead cables blew out and hit my vehicle, and then I woke up; it was somewhere like my own home but not really.

​Lisa was an ordinary teenager who loved going for walks and hanging out with her friends. She was helpful and kind-hearted toward everyone. Her parents were teachers; her mother was French and her father was German. Lately, however, misunderstandings between them had become more frequent. They couldn't find a common language anymore, and the air between them was thick with the threat of divorce.

You will dream of me. You will dream of me. You will dream of me. I will appear to you every night. And frighten you, and you will think I am just a ghost. I will appear in your worst nightmares. I will be your worst fear. I will be your fear. You will dream of me. You will dream of me. I am not just a ghost. I am not just a ghost. You will find me watching you every night.

In the fall of 2011, a man hung himself in a bottling factory of a popular over the counter sleep aide company just outside Chicago. The man worked as a quality control manager and had just been laid off to save the company money. In the morning, the cleaning crew found him swaying in the breeze from the air conditioning system with a note in his breast pocket that read “sleep tight.”

“Go to bed and wait for the Sandman.” Even as it came out of James’ mouth it seemed to him a strange thing to say, and he was not sure why he had, but for some reason it worked: Daniel went to bed. The next morning, though, he asked: “What does the Sandman look like?” James was making breakfast. Daniel sat at the table, short legs swinging under his chair. “Nothing, really,” James said. “It’s just an expression.” “What does it mean?”

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Weekend census was low. That’s the whole context you need. Mostly post-op and trauma overflow, half the lights dimmed in the corridors, the particular quiet of a floor that’s running on minimum staff. I was doing mobility checks alone, which is normal on a slow weekend. You develop a rhythm. Room to room, clipboard, chart check, get them moving if they can move, document, next one.

Hey guys, my name is Martin. I got something to get off my chest, something that has been clawing at me since it happened. It has changed my life and I was so damn lucky to get out of it, let alone Scott free! I was only 15 when it happened, I lived in the bad side of Chicago, a place that is so crime ridden, corrupt, and destroyed, that the Police won't drive here unless they muster up the courage or they just have to. Our house was the thing that stood out the most from my memory. It was a…

Tonight's like every other night. You lay there, in the dark and silence, alone, with no company other than your own thoughts. You shift and roll throughout your bed, just you and your thoughts. You ponder, you plan, you fantasise; anything to distract you from the ringing silence that surrounds you.

Okay.. So, before I begin, I just want to say that this story is true. What I’m about to tell you, really happened to me and I’m not just saying so. This happened when I was a kid. We lived in a smaller house back then and I shared a room with my elder sister. We had a bunk bed and I slept in the bottom bunk. Or, I tried to. For no good reason I was afraid to sleep there.

I woke up sweating. This was the third time this week that I had this strange recurring dream. It feels so real, like I can hear the voices clearly, feel the contact with my skin. Sometimes I can't tell if it's real or not.

I can't stand when someone is walking behind me or simply that feeling of being watched or followed. It’s not pleasant at all, and personally for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate it is due to the fact that's how I felt that during most of my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection purposes (yourself, my family and mine) I will avoid providing any names or locations.…

Sitting in the back seat of a station wagon, two sisters, ages 6 and 8 start bickering. One won't scoot over, the other is making annoying sounds. Typical car ride for this family. The parents up front try ignoring the children, but soon enough it gets to be too intolerable. "Girls, be quiet and look out your windows." Snapped their mom.

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed. In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.