I lie awake, attempting to slip into the comfort of the night. However, he won't let me. The man in the corner. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just watches, and it's terrifying. The cold, suffocating silence that exudes from his very being. The rancid odor of the recently deceased that encroaches on my thoughts, emanating from his torn and lacerated skin. His incessant and unforgiving stare, sanguine fluid cascading from never-ending reserves behind the bottomless-chasms where his eyes should be.
I try to yell, but his gaze is nerve-racking. As tears begin to roll down my face, he moves. As he inches closer, I begin to wonder, What I did to deserve this? I look up, and see him directly over me, a mix of blood and saliva raining on me. He leans over me, getting ready to devour my soul and make me nothing but a memory. At first I fight it and I meditate on what I could have accomplished in life. I think about all the missed opportunities. I wonder how my life would have unfolded had I talked to this person instead of that one. As I lose consciousness, I see him, tearing out my insides, and I don't mind. It doesn't matter, because He's here. Grabbing His hand, I feel immediate reassurance, and I can finally go to sleep.
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