XIII - Death

I don't know why I'm doing this.

Honestly, I guess I just couldn't hold it back any more.

It's early, before the sun.  

For the third time in a week, I've woken in these dark hours, battling to cling to wisps of a dream.  

I've been medicating my way to sleep for years now, and dreams were an early casualty.

Typically, sleep is a brief jaunt into the void followed by a piss and a cup of black coffee.

Dreams are a rarity, so even these lingering phantasms are worth a mention.

First, it was a long dark [redacted].

Am I being chased?  

Barely worth remembering, until three days after I followed the [redacted] and it led to a glimpse of a long jagged [redacted] in a [redacted].  

Today, I walked that dark [redacted] again, and saw a man standing at the end, was he watching silently as I approached?

Each morning after one of these single frame dreams, I woke with a distinct sort of static tone ringing in my ears.

I can't place it.

I can still hold the image of that man at the end of the hallway.

A backlit shadow, his coat nearly to the ground behind him.  

That static tone growing louder as I walk to him, but his face never falling into the light.

I don't know why this is worth mentioning.

Something is in motion.

This was not the beginning.


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