Sleep Eludes Me ...

compound complex

Sleep eludes me. She plays coy, then retreats, laughing as she looks back at me. I vacate my disheveled bed with less than quiet resignation. I grumble but not too heartily. It is the hour, I suppose.

Stumbling to my crowded desk, I sit like a lump upon my ladder back and settle in for the duration. I light a new candle, earlier fitted into a brass holder, and, by fits and starts, I commence putting pencil to paper. There seems a need to unite with a nameless interior atmosphere, one that would dissipate instantly before the evaporating scrutiny of 100-watts incandescent. Though visions have become an interwoven part of my daytime reality, they could easily be construed as dreams of the subconscious mind. Now, in the wee small hours of a cheerless morn, I call upon these tainted wraiths of my darkish mind to weave a gothic tale. Ah, but this particular candlelight is especially soothing. I am lulled, lulled into a brief, nodding slumber ...

Like a mischievous sprite, a small yet robust draft of arctic-like chill sweeps in at my feet. It wraps freezing tendrils about my legs. This bewildering rush of unseen but real menace causes me to shudder violently. There is no opportunity to gather my thoughts - what, dear Lord, is happening? The foreign malignancy climbs further, higher, reaching upward, encasing my quivering trunk. Dagger-like probes bore through me, penetrating deeply, piercingly, into my rapidly cooling heart of hearts. A respiratory system congenitally fragile and ever keen upon collapse, vacillates between wild, erratic gasps and near total shutdown of lungs.

The candle upon my desk, melted down to a nub, extinguishes immediately. Hadn't I closed the windows tight before retiring? I cannot move, but I can see. I can hear. My gaze is directed, by an exterior force (so certain I am of this), to a blackened form in the west end of my room ...

My heart bolts from its confines and forces itself full into my throat. I choke with uncommon violence. Tears - burning streams of tears - flow down frozen cheeks. There is no thaw. My unbroken stare surely must reflect light and horror as the extinguished candle reignites by an unseen hand.

darkuncle29

Nice creative writing, do you truly have insomnia? I've had insomnia and sleep deprivation since I was 14, so I feel for you.

compound complex

Thanks, darkuncle, for replying. I haven't seen you for a while. Maybe we're just on different threads.

I never sleep more than a few hours at a time in a 24-hour day. The tale's mention of breathing problems is real and impinges upon all I do. Sorry that you, too, have insomnia. I get required sleep, but it's very segmented.

I appreciate your concern.

CoCo

darkuncle29

I've found that acupuncture works well, but I do that for other issues. It just also makes me very sleepy. Massage can help if you are stressed or tense -REAL massage not "Haha $5 Happy Ending..."

Breathing issues like apnea can sometimes be helped with exercise, weight loss or even a dentist fitted mouth piece, but that is not absolute and I'm not saying you have weight problems -I mean I'm a "big guy" so I'm not pointing fingers.

My sleep issues are caused or aggravated by anxiety and emotional disturbance and depression.

compound complex

My sleep issues are caused or aggravated by anxiety and emotional disturbance and depression.

Well, I can sure relate to the above. Some matters have improved for me, others not. Isn't that the way it is? It sounds as if you're very informed on these matters. I appreciate your providing this helpful information as well as insight.

May you get a good night's sleep!

Thanks again,

CC

compound complex

She wants to skirt the issue at hand.

I need sleep, I need it and want it badly,

Yet she holds me at bay, ignores my pleas

With a disdain whose mocking sneer sends me

Reeling back to a sweat-stained pillow that might

As well be a bag of stones for softness and dreams.

compound complex

I'll try one more time to hit the sack and beckon the elusive one.

I don't imagine, though, that the cup of coffee gurgling 'round in

My gut is sending the desired message to the mush in my head.

CC Caffe

compound complex

It is he, the monster of the id, the one I created:

Chernabog incarnate. Given my somewhat artistic abilities, I, the lesser god who created this beautifully hideous lord of the underworld, crafted him in manner both beguiling and revolting. He is my creation, emerged cleanly off the canvas, breathing in hugely of the chilling rush of winter winds that spill copiously through windows and doors now wide open, as widely open and gaping as my silently screaming mouth.

He lights another candle and preens before the wardrobe mirror ...

There is no reflection.

compound complex

What startled me during my initial look at the creature's visage in the guttering but strengthening sweep of candle light was the dimensional enhancement of facial features that simply could not be captured on a flat canvas, however cleverly attached the wrist to the hand to the artist's brush.

Now, with a calmer and more studied look, I peer with amazed wonderment at my creation come alive in the flesh ... flesh, only in the merest manner of speaking. From eight feet upwards and, perhaps, more (I cannot say for certain as this dim chamber is still scarcely illuminated) the massive skull of scarlet and inky black rotates ever so slowly, methodically, in my general direction; I, still the captive, entwined fast in place by strangler vines, remain motionless but no longer crazed by eviscerating fears.

That remarkable head - produced by a tiny mortal's imagination, and, now, come vibrantly to life - locks into place, and eyes lodged deeply within cast downward ...

At me....

Sleep Eludes Me ...

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