He could feel the waves starting; pulsing through his brain. He was riding the motion as the room swirled in and out of focus. He had read the same paragraph five times and still didn’t know what it said. He meant to only look at the pictures, but something about sewing on all the beads by hand caught his attention and he started to read. He threw the magazine to the floor. His lids became heavier and heavier as the sleeping pills sedated his brain and limbs. All he could manage was to let his lids close. His ability to breathe still intact, he sank into the pillow and released all power to hang on. Sleep took over.
“Fuck,” he said. Mostly because of the intensity of the dream, but partially because it was still the middle of the night and he was awake. Again.
©Michael Rohrer 2012