The Demons of Sleep

I lay in my bed, snuggled amongst my duvet and head squashed against my pillow. Sweat drips from my forehead as I pant for a steadied breath. A suspenseful feeling overtakes my restless body, a consuming emotion of undeniable fear. My arms are tense against the sheets, and my long hair is sprawled out along my bed. 

Suddenly, I am awoken by a thunderous rumble which shakes my apartment building. The dangling lights in my bedroom sway left to right and the window blinds quiver with the rest of my unstilled belongings.

I hustle out of bed, hurrying over to my window to see a landscape of orange and red flames. The world was engulfing itself in monstrosity, as a deadly silence spread across the New York streets. 

My eyes widen with shock, as my breathing completely stops. I want to run, but my body stays fixed in its stunned position. After one long dismaying minute, my fight or flight instinct kicks in. My muscles tense when the sensation of my body returns to me. The view of destruction chooses flight for me, as I understand there is no defeating the evil conflagration. 

I run to my dresser, throwing on athletic leggings and a tee shirt. With my outfit, I slip on socks and sneakers. I then grab a backpack off of my floor and enter the kitchen for essentials. I fill its empty space with water bottles, granola bars, apples, cans of food, and other food and drink items. Also, I throw a flashlight, extra batteries, a candle, lighter, and other useful objects into the bag and zip it closed with shaky hands.

I sprint across my decent-sized apartment, opening a metal hatch into the panic room. I shut the door until it locks with a click and then throw the bag onto the tiny couch that sits in the back of the closet-sized room. 

When I first purchased my home, I laughed at the metal hatch and its secure room. Now, I cried as I wrapped my arms around my scrunched legs. Sudden bursts came in segments and with each one a gasp left my mouth.

I pull the video camera out of the bag, face it towards my distressed face, and hit the play button.

“Hey, my name is Rose Parker,” I quiver. “It is 8:39 AM on Saturday, the ninth of July, 2025.” Another blast shakes the apartment building and I almost drop the camera with fear. 

“So, outside right now, fire is raging and buildings are being destroyed by bombs, I’m guessing. I’m in my apartment’s panic room with a bag full of what I could hurriedly take with me,” I conclude as I press the pause button. 

I pull my phone out of the contents of the backpack and unlock it with my fingerprint. My news feed fills with instant emergency warnings and updates considering the deadly situation. Broadcasters show footage of New York being pummeled by bombs with an unknown sender. 

I scroll through different articles until I see one with an intriguing title: World War III Has Begun.

According to the press, the whole world had begun fighting with their deadliest weapons. New posts showed up as the minutes passed, and more than New York was being blown apart. The destruction was spreading outward and away from New York, threading throughout the nation.

Global updates appear as well, showing footage of other countries following the same conditions. My eyes stay pierced on the screen, checking every update that appears. Slowly, though, the news casters disappeared one by one until there was nothing left on the stream.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as the whole world goes silent. No more bombings, no more rumbling, no more worried screams, and no more news castings.

I try plugging my phone into the outlet on the wall, only to find that the electricity had been powered off.  

I put my earbuds in and shuffle my playlist on my phone. I close my eyes and lean back on the concrete wall, the thought of death clogging my mind. I imagine the weightless feeling of free falling, thinking about the apartment supports crumbling as the panic room and its contents tumble toward the surface. 

Then I think of the rest of the civilians in this apartment, and if they ran seeking refuge somewhere else or bunkered down like I did. I resist the thought of the immobilizing terror spreading throughout the world. If only we could have prepared, if we knew this tragedy would occur, so many lives could be spared.

My mind goes blank after a while, engulfed in complete darkness and silence. There was no more to think about at the time, except for the results, and that I could not comprehend. I slouch my head on the couch, letting my eyelids droop to a close. There was no hum of the air conditioning unit to listen to, just a void of empty space. 

Hours later, I jolt awake with an enthusiastic feeling, only to be demolished by my dreadful depression. I stand up with weak knees and throw my backpack over my shoulders. I open my phone to be surprised with no notifications. The news feed is just as empty as it was before, and social media holds no users. 

I walk to the hatch and enter a code into the keypad: 3-8-4-8. The door clicks open and leaves me to push it forward to view the remaining world. When I push the metal bar, I witness an orange sky filled with smoky clouds. Debris fills the ground and buildings have fallen and burnt to crisps. Worst of all, my apartment building was half wrecked, leaving me on the third floor without an escape route. 

I pull out my video camera and scan my surroundings with its shutter. 

“It is currently 12:19 PM and I have finally unlocked the security hatch to the panic room. It looks like the attack on New York has been finalized, but I can’t promise anything,” I say.

I walk out of the room and walk on the little concrete left to the emergency staircase, being very cautious with my steps which hold the fate of my well being. Half of it is destroyed while the other side is full of debris. I make my way down the steps, until I halt at the site of a decaying body. My eyes widen and jaw drops to the ground. I lose my sense of balance and tumble down the last few steps, as my cheeks flush red from disgust. 

I stand back up, tears flooding my eyes, yet I move past the horrific scene, entering the lobby. Immediately, I am flooded with a boiling heat and suffocating air. Smoke fills the room, gleefully attacking its victims. I don’t look down, too afraid that I might see more fatalities. 

I leave the dreadful apartment and walk onto the crumbled road, adjusting my backpack for comfort. I hear no desperate cries, no wails begging for help. The cruel silence assures death and casualties, as a strange and sophisticated thought comes to my mind.

What if I was the last person left?

It couldn’t be possible, no. Out of the seven billion people that roam this disastrous Earth, I cannot be the last human alive. 

My heartbeat jumps, and I hear a voice in my head, telling me to run. And that is what I do, I run far, not letting my aching muscles stop me. I think of my family, my friends, coworkers, even the everyday civilians I see at the grocery store. All I can think of is the fear they must have experienced when the sky was hailing bombs. 

“Uh, hello?”

I turn around to see the small, innocent face of a child, holding a torn teddy bear. I furrow my eyebrows, wondering if I am hallucinating. 

“Hi, how are you alive?” I ask.

“Wake up,” the boy says.

“What?”

“Wake up!”

My head snaps up from my pillow as I look up at my roommate who was hovering above me.

“Finally, we are going to be late for class. Hurry up!” she says.

I get up and view my college dorm that is all so familiar to me. I stand up, walk to the window, and see the Earth, full of wonderful sights and green grass. Nature fulfilling its beautiful role.

I sigh of relief. I was sleeping.

It was all a dream.