Sleep Paralysis - 834 words

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borbira

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Hi, thanks for reading.
I just want to note that this is a little creepy. Or, at least it is for me.
For a long time I have wanted to capture the sensation of sleep paralysis as I experience it.
This is the closes I have gotten yet.
Thanks again.

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As I pass the threshold into forgetful dreams, I hear a deep calling to me. A raspy inhale through an esophagus of rock and ore. It exhales the words, “remember this.”


I am tossed into an ocean of sleepful fantasies. It is a seasick sleep atop waves that turn me topsy. That takes me by the ankles and shakes me. As if it were trying to shake something from me. From the top of my head I can feel a seeping. A memory escaping. A heavy thought that would surely sink into irretrievable forgottenness if I let it go. I clasp my hands to the top of my head to hold it in. I can feel it oozing, like liquid metal, through my intertwined fingers. But the wave’s throws cannot shake the thought free.

The sea goes dead. Now released from the turbulence that kept me churning close to the surface, I sink into this still space. Only the daylight, suffocating against the seawater, whispers hints of my depth. Twilight turns to inky midnight. Midnight threatens the atramentous abyss. And yet, I will not let the thought slip. I can feel the molten thought annealing; turning slowly solid in the icy water. Still every bit as heavy. The weight of it, like a sink on a line, pulls me ever down. As I pass the last glimmer of light reaching its terminus depth, it feels as if I’d never seen light. How quickly I forgot the sensation of it. As if I’d never known sight. As if I never possessed eyes. My ears hear nothing and may have never existed either. My tongue nor nose met with any taste nor smell. Doubts about my corporealism seeps inside me instead of the deep inhale which should have drowned me. I am faceless. Senseless. My existence reduced to no more than self-awareness. A slipping awareness, without these points of sensory reference. And just as extant is exceeded, I feel something to reassure it in the most horrifying way. A deep sea beast's tendrils coil rings around my uncertain borders.

I awaken.

Paralysed.

Certainty is slow to follow even as I gain back the animation of my senses. I can see the familiar four walls of my bedroom. I taste the fresh cool breeze from my ajar window. This air fills my lungs and I feel my chest rise and fall with automatic breath. But as awareness refills me, I still cannot move. The borders of my flesh do not contain this awareness as it spreads through the room. The walls are no different than me. I know something is outside my door as clearly as if it were breathing down my neck. It is as lightless and ambiguous as the deep, deep sea. It is turning my doorknob. It is as threatening as the sea beast. I try to call out but it is like screaming underwater. It opens my door and just as light slivers through the crack, I hear the voice again, “remember this.”

I am in the tentacle grip of the sea beast again. The water is crystal clear. Light exists everywhere without a source. Only distance limits my sight. I can see every horrible nightmare in the sea like stars dottings the night sky. I can see my restrainer to be a spectacular kraken. It raises a tentacle and places a sucker atop my head and hands which are still clasped there. A strong siphonous sucking. Again, trying to drain the now solidified lead memory from my head. It tugged on my skull. Pressure builds against my eardrums. I am holdfast. The plentiful tentacles of the kraken agitate against my resistance. There were so many that they slithered sinusoidally in a tangled ball. Intertwined. A dark homogenous mass of writhing snakes. A snake pit. The kraken is gone and so is the sea. I am standing on a crumbling cliff edge deteriorating below my feet. I run but the lead in my head is now in my feet. Straining against the density, I can hardly manage a single step before the encroaching edge overtakes me and I fall towards this new horror.

I awaken.

Paralysed.

The door is still opening and the shadowy figure moves in front of the crack of daylight. A familiar silhouette. An unfamiliar intent. It passes the distance between the door and my bed. I cannot move. It sinks into the mattress springs near my feet. This dark matter ghost. Hand extending towards me. It spoke with a hard voice through gritted teeth from a mouthless face, “remember me.”

My walls are snakes. My bed a kraken breaching the choppy surface of a storming sea. The tendrils, my own mind holding me motionless. A moment which could have been any amount of time. And then everything dissolves as I regain my limbs. I sit up from the nightmare. In my room. My four walls. My window ajar and my door shut. Head aching. Shaken and wishful to forget.
 
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Unimportant

but appreciated anyway...
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Hi borbira,

I've asked the moderators to check this thread, since the usual rule at AW is that new members need to engage with the community and have 50 posts before they can put up work for critique.

A mod should be along soon to verify/correct me on that.
 

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Hi borbira,

I've asked the moderators to check this thread, since the usual rule at AW is that new members need to engage with the community and have 50 posts before they can put up work for critique.

A mod should be along soon to verify/correct me on that.
Flash fiction, like poetry, has always been exempt.

Moreover, the 50 post rule is controlled by the software. Members can't start threads in forums that are restricted by the 50 post thread.

Lisa
 

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