by Chua Han Au
It’s 3.09AM and I can’t sleep, yet again. It’s as if I’m being played, a target used by sinister beings to mock at and be teased by. I am fatigued, completely tired; when I shut my eyes, I know I’m ready to sleep. Yet, the macabre thought of having dark claws flirtatiously running through my skin threatening me to stay awake surfaces. I then succumb to these thoughts weakly, being absolutely under their subjugation. Everything seems to be portending evil – my prayers imply failure and my room brimming with oxygen makes it distinctively deplorable.
I can hear motorbikes speeding off sporadically, an indication of life and that I’m not alone; that someone is out there perhaps making a delivery or going for work. I lie straight, looking up blankly and think rather perversely that something legged would have its limbs spread out like a tarantula, glued to the false ceiling – staring right at me – preventing me from taking rest.
My body shouts in agony and I can hear its cries; the tiny twitches of pain in my stomach, my arms and my seemingly clouded vision. Nights are once again a deleterious process. I crave for sunlight now more than ever – and am considering waiting unto 6AM to witness the first crack of light indicating safety. I have had enough of everything that is hampering me from sleep; here I am writing this rather pathetic entry made possible by sheer trepidation. This is exactly why I tell my friends that one day – just one – that I could possibly die from a chronic psychological illness; only to be smothered in my sleep, childishly creating my own murders through grotesque imaginations.