Kill The Gerard
Just Sleep
He tosses and turns in his sleep as images excessively flood the inside of his eyelids to complicate his sleeping further. The horrifying images make him murmur curses into the open atmosphere. His breathing hitches in the back of his vocal chords as he feels something embracing his neck which eventually makes it throb. A taste, familiar, bites at his taste buds as the squeezing gets tighter; it was the bitter taste of blood. Finally, the gripping makes his breathing staggered until his lungs feel as if they were filled with butane and he is gasping for oxygen.
“Let go!” he manages to choke out.
The struggle pries his heavy eyelids open to see only the dim light from the moon that peers through his curtains. He places his hands on his throat to feel nothing but his skin that lay over his neck the way it always did. As he is assured that no one was present in the dark abyss surrounding him, he gropes around to feel the wooden texture of his nightstand on the leathery tips of his fingers. He feels for the pad of paper he had placed on the nightstand before he retired for the night. The notepad came in his grip as the pen did the same. Fumbling around with the pen, he hears the door lurch open; his eyes follows the sound to see his younger brother standing there.
“I heard you yelling. I wanted to see if you were alright.” He pauses and deciphers his brother’s face. “Are you alright?”
“Not quite,” he replies as his chest still heaves. “I’ll just take a walk to get it off my mind.”
His brother nods in approval and leaves the doorway presuming his elder brother was decent without his guidance. He slowly strips the sheets off of himself, and proceeds out of bed. Before he egresses out the door, he grabs a voice recorder, and throws on his coat. The cold air spears through his plaid, linen pajama pants as he opens the door. Ignoring the cold, he continues to walk to his obscured destination.
The iced air is just as fogged up as his mind is. He ambles throughout the forest on a twilight trail only following his senses while hoping he can come across a placid area to gather his clustered thoughts. In the distance, he can barely make out an undisturbed meadow through the thick, eerie murk. He soon reaches the serene area, and stands there until he is ready to regain his thoughts.
He clears his throat and lets out a deep sigh before placing the tape recorder before his lips. Licking his chapped lips, he presses a few buttons before the red light turns on. Placing his hand in his pocket, he feels something metal on his finger, but ignores it. Hesitantly, he speaks into the piece of equipment,
“These dreams have become unenviable. They’re, they’re these terrors. They’re worse than tremors. Sometimes, it feels like someone is gripping my throat – squeezing,” he spoke with a still-quivering breathing from the traumatic effect the dreams had placed on him. “Sometimes, I see flames. Sometimes, I’d even see people I love dying; and it’s always…”
As he sets it on a tree stump, he knows what to do next. He pulls the shiny, metallic pistol out of his coat pocket and puts the barrel to the temple of his head. “I can’t, I can’t wake up,” he blares into the open meadow, and pulls the trigger to blast the demons out of his mind, and to stop the suffering, the pain, and the grief.
Just sleep…
“Let go!” he manages to choke out.
The struggle pries his heavy eyelids open to see only the dim light from the moon that peers through his curtains. He places his hands on his throat to feel nothing but his skin that lay over his neck the way it always did. As he is assured that no one was present in the dark abyss surrounding him, he gropes around to feel the wooden texture of his nightstand on the leathery tips of his fingers. He feels for the pad of paper he had placed on the nightstand before he retired for the night. The notepad came in his grip as the pen did the same. Fumbling around with the pen, he hears the door lurch open; his eyes follows the sound to see his younger brother standing there.
“I heard you yelling. I wanted to see if you were alright.” He pauses and deciphers his brother’s face. “Are you alright?”
“Not quite,” he replies as his chest still heaves. “I’ll just take a walk to get it off my mind.”
His brother nods in approval and leaves the doorway presuming his elder brother was decent without his guidance. He slowly strips the sheets off of himself, and proceeds out of bed. Before he egresses out the door, he grabs a voice recorder, and throws on his coat. The cold air spears through his plaid, linen pajama pants as he opens the door. Ignoring the cold, he continues to walk to his obscured destination.
The iced air is just as fogged up as his mind is. He ambles throughout the forest on a twilight trail only following his senses while hoping he can come across a placid area to gather his clustered thoughts. In the distance, he can barely make out an undisturbed meadow through the thick, eerie murk. He soon reaches the serene area, and stands there until he is ready to regain his thoughts.
He clears his throat and lets out a deep sigh before placing the tape recorder before his lips. Licking his chapped lips, he presses a few buttons before the red light turns on. Placing his hand in his pocket, he feels something metal on his finger, but ignores it. Hesitantly, he speaks into the piece of equipment,
“These dreams have become unenviable. They’re, they’re these terrors. They’re worse than tremors. Sometimes, it feels like someone is gripping my throat – squeezing,” he spoke with a still-quivering breathing from the traumatic effect the dreams had placed on him. “Sometimes, I see flames. Sometimes, I’d even see people I love dying; and it’s always…”
As he sets it on a tree stump, he knows what to do next. He pulls the shiny, metallic pistol out of his coat pocket and puts the barrel to the temple of his head. “I can’t, I can’t wake up,” he blares into the open meadow, and pulls the trigger to blast the demons out of his mind, and to stop the suffering, the pain, and the grief.
Just sleep…
♠ ♠ ♠
By Tainted Seance.