Tag Archive: A Dream of Impossible People

A Dream of Impossible People 002 (FICTION)

read part 1 Sometimes when he slept, he would half wake. A menace would hang in the air. Something would be in the room with him, just on the edges of his vision, smeared into the shadows and watching him with burning eyes. He’d try to scream but couldn’t. He first saw one when he was 11 or 12. His eyes eased opening after a night awake wondering why it felt so strange to lay on your stomach. Just outside his bedroom door, a skeleton. Not a collection of bones strung together like you’d find in a classroom. No, this was a being. A thing. A malevolent entity. It watched him sleep. Observed him. Waited for its moment to do … what? He tried to…
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A Dream of Impossible People 001 (FICTION)

He didn’t often shave. When he did, the mirror twisted and cracked, his face split between the shards, each of those infinite reflections thinking of infinite ways to die and why he was frightened by, and drawn to, each one of those endings. Instead, he drank coffee with no caffeine, because caffeine was just a rush of heartbeats and regrets, inky black, like so many nights caught in the grip of sleep paralysis, but in liquid form. From there, it was the choice: clean or unclean. Most days he was unclean. This suited him. Let the cover be the book. Let the book dictate the cover. And aren’t we all merely books made flesh? On this day it was no shave, coffee that did not…
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