• I was constantly plagued by sleepless nights. I hated ever minute, every second of it. I didn’t know why, I didn’t want to understand. I just wished that my brain would lapse into that state of unconsciousness that would allow me a temporary peace, without having to look or deal with life.

    But on another level I embraced it. The perpetual state of confusion, not being able to grasp the severity, or physical-ness of an even, unable to understand simple things, lacking the motor skills to achieve acts that would otherwise be easy. It allowed me a way not to try to think, to simply have a clear, yet heavy, mind.


    My wrist twisted quickly, and the muddied rifle swung around the corner, seeming to snap it’s crosshairs onto the back of the grey shell of a soldier’s helmet. Looking down the digitized scope I clicked and watched as a crimson abstract picture painted itself onto the wall across from me. My fingers danced along the keyboard without thought, trained through instinct. I twisted my wrist again, spinning the reloading gun as my character jumped and rotated, once again locking onto another target and taking the shot. I became the likings of an exhausted painter, moving through instinct and inspiration with little thought of the outcome ahead of time. It was a blur that I couldn’t comprehend, and if I were to even try I would be capable of nothing more than becoming famous for my exploits.

    I heard the voices in my head, unable to distinguish between them and my thoughts. I watched the world through heavy eyelids, coming ever closer to the tyranny of the dark figure, a beacon standing out from the white darkness that engulfed my street. How I wanted sleep to elude me, to keep itself and its recurring visions away from the false purity of my own vision. And whether the vision had been real to begin with – and began to manifest itself in the flickering darkness of my eyelids, or it had never been more than another bleak image – I would avoid it with all my strength. The longer I tried to fight it, the more my movements became sluggish, and soon my precision movements that allowed for my notable 2.5:1 ratio would begin to falter, leaving nothing more than holes and broken glass behind, instead of paint and paint strokes.

    My eyes finally shut, and I felt a scream coming out of my throat, and a trembling shooting through my arms. A white flickering field, or maybe it wasn’t flickering. Dark spots came into view, beginning to take shape, always partially hidden behind the crosshatch of snow. Finally it came into full view, a dark hooded figure hidden safely in the blinding snow.

    I was struck sharply in the chest, and was instantly winded. The figure vanished, the white abyss tinted beige, and shapes started to appear slowly after. A power bar, and then the towering silhouette of my desk, dressed in black with fine silver straps holding the ensemble together. The wall of my personal castle came into view, the stonework lined with grey. My hand touched the gypsum wall, inching up the drywall’s surface. Red markings on my chest were left where the scattered keyboard and mouse had branded my skin. My head spun as I was engulfed in vertigo, waking up from my short slumber.