Sleep...by drake
It's 12:57 AM on a Wednesday.
The plaster walls behind me shake, as plumbing badly in need of repair is
called to life in the room adjacent to my own. A small amount of moisture
leaks from the cracks which time has worn into what once was an eggshell
white wall. The sound and the drop of water that lands on my naked body wake
me, dragging me back into the realm of the conscious from the succor of my
dreamscapes.
"Fuck," I mutter underneath my breath, sitting up, right hand swinging up
and around from underneath my bed-ragged pillow, brandishing the eight inch
blade of the damascene dagger kept there. Finally, my lungs match pace with
the rate my heart is moving at, and I can breathe again. At first sharp and
jagged, the air rushes down my throat, and I can feel the wave of heat which
had enveloped me slowly fading away.
I slide the blade down under and beneath my pillow, make sure it catches in
the handmade sheath I'd labored over just a week before, and rise. The dull
fluorescent light overhead casts a strange glow over my already pallid
complexion, painting the contours of my taut, lithe musculature varying
shades of white. I note this with nothing so much as detached curiosity as I
glide to the small wash basin mounted in one corner of the 'coffin' which I
call home, slender, bony fingers first turning the un-oiled knob, then
dipping underneath the cool running water.
I exhale slowly as I bring the cold water to my face, which at first
splashes across my angular features, then runs in rivulets down and across
my torso, finally falling in heavy drops to the floor. Breathing seems
easier now, and I note that the 'fever' has risen from me once more. Slowly,
I walk across the room again, collapsing onto the stained, torn mattress
that I've made my bed for the past several weeks.
Thoughts swirl in and out of my mind, some clear, defined, outlined in
blinding clarity. The others, more twisted, faded memories than anything,
creep in and overtake the defined thoughts, obscuring my train of thought
and causing me to delve deeper into those subconscious regions I'd long ago
tried to lock away. A shake of the head, and I'm ok again, at least for the
moment. Cold, wet fingers grasp the threadbare sheet bunched at my ankles,
and pull it up and over my head, cocooning me in a blanket of darkness as I
wait for unconsciousness to take me.
I gave my life to them. They augmented my skeletal, muscular, and nervous
systems. I can accomplish things no sane human would dare try. I am one of
the elite; those who survived their initial assignments, survived long
enough to garner some experience under their belt. I've got respect, fear,
and mystery on my side. There's no mission I cannot accomplish.
The only thing I can't do is get a good night's sleep.
