In the middle of the night, I wake up screaming. I don't remember the why, how or when of my terrors just those terrible, haunted eyes. They flick open like Venetian blinds, quick and bright, then stare into my soul. I hate them. I really do. They're just like mine.
After my wife having read my last Night Flights story, I can say I haven't been flying so high. The engine noises have been replaced by some sort of low growl, my stretching out restricted by knees in my back. I hope to fly again, but maybe by charter instead. Part 1
When I can't sleep, I like to fly. That's right, I said fly. I stretch my legs, sticking my toes out from under the duvet, reach out my arms like wings, and pretend to be a plane. My wife's my co-pilot. She provides the engine noises. Every single night!
￼ Sleep that oldest of adversaries has climbed in to disrupt my day. A ridiculously large coffee revives me in a way the fresh air has not, but not fully. I’m somewhere in between alive and not. There’s music playing in the coffee shop; I think it’s on repeat. I’m so tired I even contemplate […]
￼ Diabolic These dreams Twisted nocturnal visions Sleep an unwelcome friend Nightmares
￼ Midnight came in restless huffs and the hoots of a bored owl. Too lazy to fly, the bird shrieked at halfhearted intervals rendering my sheep counting pointless. "T-wit!" it called. "T-wit!" It wasn't until I woke with a mouthful of pillow that I realised it had been taking the ****.
￼ The ghosts and the goblins, the witches and the hags, they hide in the dungeons, graveyards and sewers. You won't see them, but you'll feel them massing like an evil tide. What to do? your lips tremble. Go to sleep, my boy, and pray you don't hear the midnight tolling.