[Calann]: 135.Short stories.Dreamscape

They were silent, always silent. Like shadows, they moved from one room to another, from patient to patient. Only once did I ever see them confer, even amidst themselves - and in that moment, I wasn't that sure about my security in that place anymore.


I had gone there after beginning to have increased problems in getting enough sleep and feeling tired to the bone practically all the time. The doctor confirmed my suspicions of insomnia and subsequent exhaustion, and he referred me to a sleep therapy clinic. He recommended it, saying the people working there were the best one could find.


Funny how I didn't realise the odd glint in his eyes until now when it seems already to be too late. Desperation, hatred, grief...? I don't know. Nevertheless, he was perfectly aware of where he was sending me.


I still haven't found out, and I doubt I ever will.


When I arrived to the clinic, a small suitcase in hand, having taken with me the necessary items for a few days' stay as instructed, I felt slightly apprehensive. What was this going to be like? The receptionist, however, gave me a charming, reassuring smile and convinced me there would be nothing to worry about. She then guided me to a corridor with the entrances to the bedrooms of the patients and showed me to my temporary accommodations. After that I tried to make myself comfortable despite the eerie aura of the place, stamped down on the part of me that wanted to go exploring, and waited.


Some hours later, in the early evening, I was fetched by someone who seemed to be a laboratory assistant. He led me down a flight of stairs, into a corridor which branched to several rooms on either side, glass windows allowing the people inside to see out and vice versa. The patient in the room nearest to me tried to shout something, but I couldn't hear her --- him? Never mind, the person's gender hardly matters. The assistant ushered me into one of those rooms and told me to wait. They - the sleep therapists - would soon come to take a look at me.


And so before I knew what was happening, I had been tied down and connected to all manner of machines by way of wires and tubes. The beeping and whirring was nearly overwhelming - I felt like someone mistakenly placed on a hospital operation table in the middle of surgery. I did all I could to stamp down on the panic raising its head inside me, and tried not to show it. After all, that would have been ridiculous, as this place was merely a clinic. Nothing more. Now I rather think that my initial gut feeling of being caged was a great deal closer to the truth. For all accounts, it was the truth - or became truth.


I don't know what they exactly did to me. The assistant called it treatment, so I thought it as such. I tried not to pay attention to the fact that the concept of time was becoming fuzzy and that I began to have peculiar dreams. Or so it was, until the day I saw - and heard - them talk. But by then, there was no escaping.


Apprehension rapidly dawning, I more sensed than saw them come towards me. Every muscle, every nerve in my body was screaming to get off that chair and run like never before. But instead, I stayed, somehow paralyzed by their gaze.


This time, prior to connecting me to the devices, they gave me some sort of injection. The needle was full of a light, shimmering blue liquid, but I fell asleep before my dread had time to grow.


Of the dreams I'd had up until then, this was the worst. It outrivaled every nightmare I had ever had in my entire life. And not just because of the events-- but because it felt so real. I was in a basement room of some kind, full of different gadgets and tools. Idly, I wandered around, picking things up and putting them down again. Finding some cloth, thread, and a needle, I decided to sew myself something. Calmly, I began to cut the cloth into pieces with the scissors I found lying on the floor nearby - and the next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a mirror, needle and thread in hand. I began to sew my mouth shut, slowly, painfully. Blood trickled between my fingers, and I was almost finished, when the thread suddenly ran out. Frustrated, I threw the needle away. There must be something else! - a stapler was lying forsaken in a dusty corner. I tested it on a finger, and upon a satisfying result, returned to the mirror and finished what I had started. I smiled at myself, but my eyes bore pure horror in their depths. I frowned upon discovering that I was crying. This would not do.


After groping around for a bit, I found two things that were essential in continuing my self-appointed torture. I raised the too-heavy sledgehammer high into the air and welcomed the pain when my kneecaps shattered with a sickening crunch. Had I the ability, I would have laughed. Being on the verge of going mad from the agony, I almost didn't feel the sensation of digging my eyes out with a dull spoon. Almost.


But only when I shoved my hands under a saw blade that had suddenly appeared beside me did I scream so hard I should have woken myself up. I awaited to waken any moment, lying in pathetically sobbing a heap on the cold floor.


What came was nothingness.


I think I've been sleeping ever since, constantly and acutely aware of my surroundings, yet unable to wake up. How long has it been...? I have no idea. I'm trapped in my odd dreams and in that state right between conscious and unconscious.


They're keeping me as prisoner in my own head, and the worst thing is that I don't even know why.