February 26, 2017 -- Hours before Dawn
His Apartment Above the Diner
Rhy'Din
A continuation of Rambling On
Pin pricks. Metal slipping beneath the flesh. Plumes of red blend into clarity.
"That won't help you."
Dread. Helpless.... Faithless.
He'd slipped into the spiraling vortex of images rather quickly. Soft tufts of comfort was a prison for him. What was an escape for others, sleep was something he wished he could escape. He hated that it was necessary. He'd tried to go days without sleeping, procrastinating the inevitable. But he only learned that it had an opposite effect. Harder crashing. Sleeping longer. More opportunities for haunting images to assault his mind like a battering of hawk's wings.
He could do little else than to succumb to them, to accept it for what it was.
It was his life now.
Those images sprang up like a camera's flash, some too bright to make out, all of them too quick to register their meaning.
He whimpered in his sleep, a sound far less human and much more hinting to his animal. His fingers sank into the blankets and sheets, curling though clawless as he seemed to seek some form of grip on reality even in his unconsciousness. He contorted himself into as much of a ball as his human body could manage, sinking beneath blankets that were more suffocating than comforting. Even in his dream state, that thin fabric was interpreted as a crushing weight. Bars.... Chains...
Orbs hidden by thick lash and eyelids danced frantically, flitting over the scenes corrupting his mind. The whimpering ensued, almost a quiet plea for them to stop but they were relentless.
He'd escaped the Unknown, but he couldn't seem to escape himself.
His Apartment Above the Diner
Rhy'Din
A continuation of Rambling On
Pin pricks. Metal slipping beneath the flesh. Plumes of red blend into clarity.
"That won't help you."
Dread. Helpless.... Faithless.
He'd slipped into the spiraling vortex of images rather quickly. Soft tufts of comfort was a prison for him. What was an escape for others, sleep was something he wished he could escape. He hated that it was necessary. He'd tried to go days without sleeping, procrastinating the inevitable. But he only learned that it had an opposite effect. Harder crashing. Sleeping longer. More opportunities for haunting images to assault his mind like a battering of hawk's wings.
He could do little else than to succumb to them, to accept it for what it was.
It was his life now.
Those images sprang up like a camera's flash, some too bright to make out, all of them too quick to register their meaning.
He whimpered in his sleep, a sound far less human and much more hinting to his animal. His fingers sank into the blankets and sheets, curling though clawless as he seemed to seek some form of grip on reality even in his unconsciousness. He contorted himself into as much of a ball as his human body could manage, sinking beneath blankets that were more suffocating than comforting. Even in his dream state, that thin fabric was interpreted as a crushing weight. Bars.... Chains...
Orbs hidden by thick lash and eyelids danced frantically, flitting over the scenes corrupting his mind. The whimpering ensued, almost a quiet plea for them to stop but they were relentless.
He'd escaped the Unknown, but he couldn't seem to escape himself.