Sleep Perchance

You wake up, the sun is searing your face. The clock reads 2 am. You twist around to look out the window, seeing only your reflected face, twisted in agony. You wake up, your whole body is stiff. Your back is turned to the sound of shuffling feet outside your bedroom door. You get up, stark naked, and confront an endless darkness that has swallowed the rest of your home. You wake up and realize, that must have been a dream. Your arms are asleep and turning over is a struggle. There’s someone moving around outside your bedroom door. You shout at them. You challenge them to come in. The bedroom door crashes open. You wake up. You are totally immobile. The air has the quality of the moments just before sunrise. Someone skulks outside your door. Couldn’t be the dog, too old to get up the stairs. You reach for the bat in the corner of the room. You can barely lift your arm. You shout for help, the shifting outside the door stops. You shout for help again. 

You wake up. You must have slept late as the sun is already high in the sky. Your sheets are soaked with sweat. Your limbs are tangled up in the sheets. You must have thrashed through the night. You strain against them, trying to free a hand to peel yourself from your straitjacket. You panic. You wake up, tied into your damp sheets. You wriggle an arm free and pull open the curtain. The sun blinds you. You realize you’re profoundly late. You hop out of bed and push out the door and find yourself back in your room. You try the door to the bathroom, only to step back into your room. You look back over your shoulder and see your room mirrored both sides of the door. You rush to the window and pull open your blinds and throw open your window only to be looking into your room once more. 

You wake up. It’s still dark. The window is closed and the room is stifling. The fan creaks with every revolution. It must have stopped working in the night. You get up and open the window to a blast of hot air, seeing for a moment a strangeness in your reflection. You sit back in bed and remember, it’s winter. You wake up. Your whole body is beading with sweat. You roll to the edge of the bed, only to find more bed. You roll and crawl and reach in every direction. You can’t find the edge. The bed stretches out in every direction. You try to stand but your feet are like jello.

You wake up. The pillow wet with a puddle of your own drool. You clean off your face and sit up in bed. Outside the heat makes the walls shimmer. You open your window, the heat chokes the air. You look down to the ground below. You the ground is so far below you see only shimmering heat waves. You live on the second floor. 

You wake up, you hear the gentle thrum of music and chatter drifting up the stairs. You must have been napping. You roll out of bed, already dressed. Every step toward the door takes you back where you were. You run, you leap, you dive toward the door. You're in the same place as before. The party sways beneath you. You wake up. Someone’s throwing rocks at your window. You look at the clock. 45:09 am. You squeeze your eyes shut and look at your watch, the hands are pointing at you. You wake up. You can't move. You scream and spit at the presence outside your door. You curse whatever foul thing is doing this and denounce it’s sick fucking game. 

You wake up.  Every breath is a chore. The light of a cloudy day fills your room. The sheets are warm to the touch. You rise without effort and you feel alone. You take a long shower, brush your teeth, and consider breakfast. At the foot of the stairs your dog waits. The look in her eyes oddly familiar. You get down to her level and stroke her head. She licks all over your face. You look into her face and realize her eyes are human. You wake up. Frustrated and furious. Sticky with sweat in the dark. An absolute dark created by your blackout curtains and disdain for light when you rest. The only light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. In the thin glow, shadows cast by feet twist around. You hear your bathroom drawers being opened and slammed shut. You call the thief a coward, tell it to show itself. You say you will give it no more of your fear or confusion. You wake up. Once again unable to move, this time you shut your eyes and wait. No use in giving in.

You wake up. Ready. You can move freely. The blankets piled on your bed make you toasty despite the fact you’d rather save money than run the heat. You look out the window and the ground is still wet from last night’s rain. You make yourself check your phone. 7:24 am. You beat your alarm. You open the bedroom door cautiously, and peer down the stairs. Everything is where you left it. You head to the bathroom. You shiver when your feet touch the tile. You take a shower. Hot water to push away the frigid air and the stressful night. You manage to relax. Your mirror shows nothing unusual aside from a pimple. You put on the clothes from the back of your chair. Your dog waits for you in her bed. Her tail thumps when you come down the stairs. You get close and pet under her chin. You’re glad she seems normal. You set to making breakfast, serving the dog first. You crack eggs, cook bacon, toast toast, and make tea. You put half the food on one plate, the other half on another. You look for your tea, and realize your hands are full. You’re sitting at your table waiting for your breakfast, looking into your own eyes, laughing at the look on your face. 

You wake up.