Sleep didn’t come easily to me anymore. I often slept fretfully. This night, however, was worse than most. I tossed and turned all night, slipping in and out of consciousness. Nothing seemed to soothe me anymore; even imagining the broken ceiling fan on my ceiling spinning did nothing to calm my nerves. There was a time that I’d trace the blades with my eyes and count them one by one until my eyelids grew heavy. Those were simpler times.

Every time I briefly dipped in and out of consciousness, I swore I could hear banging from the room from across the way – the one I didn’t dare enter anymore. Finally, in a sleep-induced haze, I made my way to the door.

The passage was blocked by stacks of boxes, trinkets, and knick-knacks. There were all the things that my mother used to love, and I had used them to bar this door from me many years ago. How many had it been now? I turned it over in my mind for a bit and then shook the thought out of my head. After all, there were some things better left in the dark.

All her treasures were covered in cobwebs and dust. The moonlight danced off the particulates that were kicked into the air. Covering my nose with my sleeve, I refused to give up. It was like I was possessed.

When there was nothing standing in my way other than a few hastily nailed in boards over the wooden door, I stood there stupefied. Part of me never thought I’d get this far. It took me several moments before I finally dragged myself to the door and placed my ear against it.

At first, there was nothing, but then, there was sobbing. It was weak and wheezing, and then out of the smallest and most fragile voice I had ever heard, I heard my name. It lit up every muscle in my body on fire, and I fled back the way I had come, like a bat out of hell.

I threw the covers back over me and clutched my knees to my chest. Crushing my eyes shut, I prayed for tomorrow. This day had already been far too long and painful. So many old things, things that I thought I had already overcome, were now pulling me back to them. I told myself I wasn’t afraid over and over again until, gradually, sleep came to take me away.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It took me from my room and brought me somewhere greater. My consciousness had faded away, and my bedroom ceiling was now replaced with a familiar, clear blue sky. It was one I had seen before, but from where I didn’t know. The sky was filled with clouds drifting by, but it was still agonizingly bright. The light seared my eyes, and I dove beneath the shade of a nearby tree to escape from it.

This world was a perfect mirror image of Main Street, and there was something beautiful about it. Even that strange handlebar in the center of a crater in the road looked lovely here. It was lodged there perfectly upright, and there was something purposeful about it, like if God had put it there himself.

When I pulled myself away from the shade of the tree, a flock of birds erupted from overhead, crying out in unison, but it wasn’t my movement that had startled them. It was the quaking steps of the large figure in the distance that had trembled the earth with one of his great steps.

We always found our way to each other somehow. The giant and I seemed to be drawn together. In the dreams where I didn’t leave my house, it would find me instead. I would always look out the window to see its impressive visage looming over my house and blocking out the sun. Its large, dropping arms flowed to the ground like a nest of snakes, tangling together and writhing in clusters. Sometimes it would look at me, and despite its lack of eyes, I always felt like it met mine.

I often felt it weeping, even though no tears ever ran down its face. Maybe, instead, they ran down through its body and into those gravity-worn arms that dragged along the ground. They seemed to stay in place as it walked away; every step it took added more to the mass of flesh by its feet. It occurred to me then that if those waterlogged arms ever burst, we might have both drowned together.

My body refused to move, and the ground sang to me. Everything resonated with me. I could have even sworn that I felt the fabric of existence at my fingertips. In that moment, I prayed to God: Please God, if I am going to be torn apart, let it be meaningful; let it be necessary. I don't want to be dust; I don’t want to be nothing. Please, God, just let me exist, all I want is to be real! And then it all faded to black.