Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Train

I was telling her something.

But then I turned my head to look at her, and I realized, I wasn't. I just imagined I did.

I then went to open my mouth to tell her what I wanted, but I couldn't remember what it was.

How did I get here? Is this even real? Is she sitting right beside me, or is her bewitching perfume the longing of a distant memory?

I am now alone, in the middle of the rails.

Waiting to catch the last train.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

There is just more tunnel.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Candle

Some nights the chandlers would come.

They would take me in my sleep and do things on me.

Tied on a wooden altar, I could only stare at their bleak, static faces, as they scrutinized my body.

The one who doesn't speak, always cared for my perfect alignment against the altar. My hands touching my thighs, my knees and ankles touching together.

The one who never talks, carried a heavy, leather bag. The metallic tools contained within were carefully arranged along an invisible surface. Even though, I could not turn my head to look at them, I knew they were pointed at me.

The third one, the one who only smiles, she would just stay unmoving in front of my face. Eyeless and white. Like trying to distract me from everything about to happen.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Ants

Ants came while I was asleep.

They took my left eyebrow.

Carried over and planted all the hair above my right one. Now, I have just one big eyebrow. It doesn't feel right.

It's uneven. Asymmetrical. Odd.

I find myself leaning to my right side when I talk to people. They say nothing, don't even seem to notice it. But I know they're are either being polite or ashamed of my unfortunate face. All in all, I'd rather have their outright mockery, than a silent pity.

I don't know why the ants did that. Who told them to? Could it be the King of Ants, whom I've never heard about? The big shadow cast above my right eye blurs the answers.

One thing is for certain though, they're coming for my nostril hair next. They'll put it inside my ears.

That's why I filled them up with silicon. Insulation. That'll stop them. Trading some of my senses is probably worth them leaving me alone.

As for my nostril hair, it won't be easy finding it, while along with my nose, it's in the garbage can.

If only the blood would stop pouring on the paper, I would consider this a clean victory.

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Hag

The night hag comes while I sleep. With her wooden ladle she eats soup out of my open head. She stirs my dreams and sniffs the vapors through her hairy nostrils.

That's why they're always whirling when I wake up, and only the bits she left I can remember.

I will find you witch. I will take my dreams back. I can shatter them myself, all but the same.

The Pillow Case

Record:

Sun Oxen Year & ¾ , Eighthday

Around Noon

It was when I pressed my hand on the crystal ball that I saw.

It was dark.

The moon cast her luminous strings, twisting the forest and filling the land with shadow and twilight. A night breeze made the trees dance, sending their leaves to the hungry soil.

There was light coming from the top tower of the castle. A dim candle melting by the window, shaped pale outlines in the room, making the old wooden furniture look like oddly dressed tree-men. Inside the colors of gold and black painted curtains and sheets. A great chandelier hanged from the ceiling and claret walls carried portraits of insignificant dead folk. Intoxicating odors of the perfumes of lustful women lingered in the air, permeating decadent aristocracy.