Kicking and Screaming

Insomnia the doctor had diagnosed it. I sat on my bed, knees against my chest and rocking back and forth. Hallucinations he had called it. The scratching grew steadily louder and louder, like something was carving deep grooves into the other side of my bedroom door. Paranoia the doctor said, handing me a bottle of blue pills. The Disorderlies and Nightmare-shift nurses were gathered outside the door, conversing in a thousand different tongues over what arcane symbols were scrawled in blood on diagnosis charts.

They were waiting for the weights on my eyelids to grow too heavy and then they'd crash through, scalpel teeth snapping and gloved hands restraining. It won't happen though, oh no. I had been awake for two weeks in a row, visions of my poor girl waking me screaming. They knew I lived here now, this was where I used to sleep so they kept finding me here. I needed a new place to hide away from them otherwise they would get bored and finally try the door handle.

I leapt to my feet, despite how tired and ill I should feel from two weeks of sleepless nights I felt as energetic and powerful as ever. As I crept towards the door through my dark and boarded up room the scratching grew more frenzied, the chatter louder and more excited like I was about to hit a breakthrough. And hit I did. The pain shot through me, a deep burning in all my nerve endings as I roared and swung a fist towards the door. My fist never connected with the door, but it buckled and groaned as a great invisible force was thrown against it. With another swing the wood separated from the hinges, sending pieces of it flying back into the living room and embedding them in the wall.

"GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO TO SLEEP, GO BACK TO SLEEP!"

In the living room the stereo was going haywire, A Perfect Circle playing on it, but repeating on one song and on one particular verse.  Besides that there was no sound or sign of anything wrong in my apartment, it seemed remarkably well preserved. Face down on the table there was still the picture frame, sitting amidst all of the blue pills. Brushing away all of the sleeping pills I picked up the frame, it was me and Sarah. Her beautiful face lit up, spotted with chocolate ice cream and smiling the biggest smile I had ever seen on a ten year old. Sitting next to her on the park bench was me before they had stolen her away, still young and hopeful myself.  My youth had disappeared from my face two weeks ago though when the police hadn't found anything, my bright blue eyes were bloodshot, my brown hair was shaggy and unkempt and my clothes were well worn and stained.

Clank, clank, chick-chick

Five minutes later all the deadbolts, padlocks and chains had been taken off my front door. I was submerged up to the ankles in paper, amidst the magazines were blank envelopes that all had the same pieces of paper covered in bloody symbols in them. I was surprised that the nightmares had the persistence to put so many of these things through the letter box. I was also surprise when groaning, I had pulled open the heavy door to my apartment to find a surgical mask on the other side of it, stuck there with a bloodied scalpel.

I pocketed the scalpel, I was sure it would be useful as I started making my way down the hallway. It was a big apartment building and generally it was very well kept. Since I had barricaded my room off from the rest of the city though it seemed to have declined greatly. The smell of mildew filled my nose as I sloshed my way through the carpet, it felt more akin to trekking through mangroves than anything. Wallpaper peeled off the wall and reached for me with faded yellow fingers, I ducked under and dodged the peels but they didn't move to get me, they just remained where they were, reaching towards each other but not meeting.