The long stretches of night, when the rest of what remains of the the world is sleeping, are the worst. The minutes clunked dully on the clocks and nerves until all time keeping apparatuses were removed from the house in a moment of calculated fury. It was a decision that has yet to be regretted even though time continues slowly regardless of their presence.
Insomniac dreams come to life in the small hours as the darkness presses against the home and shadows launch long claws. The delusions and hallucinations are easy to spot after years of growing familiar with them, but they can still be unsettling at times. When foes real and imagined are hunting you, complacency is foolish.
I can only count on myself. All my friends and family gave me up for lost years ago, before I learned to spot the difference between waking nightmares and the true terrors of our present world. They said the lack of sleep would drive me mad and had, in fact, already done so, but they were too scared to see the truth of my situation. Cowards. All of them.
Dark times had come and I had to walk that fine line between insane and sane so I could see how best to do battle. I never gave myself to the madness, and I never will. But, I had to see it. I had to know what it felt like crawling under my skin to be aware enough, and open my eyes enough, to see the monsters laying siege to our way of life.
It was with sadness, I watched my friends and family walk away from me, succumbing to the ravages of the night. The same affliction in the darkness could never touch me because I refused to sleep. I stayed awake so I could see the beasts coming and fend them off. I tried to warn the world. I did. I tried. I failed.
But, I’m still here, and I’m still fighting.