I can’t sleep. Or rather, I won’t sleep.
Mere hours ago I cane came back to Port Brimsay Brimsey. I helped carry some of the wounded on a stretcher. I’m not sure how I did it—I was so tired, but I did. And now here I am. Alone in my room. Afraid.
I don’t want to lie down. I haven’t slept in a day over a day and a half. I’m tired out of my mind, yet the idea of lying down, of allowing myself to be vunerable vulnerable, terrifies me. What I saw and heard today still lingers in my mind, clouded as it is.
I don’t know if I’ll be sleeping well for a while.
In fact, I think I’m going to go read. Yes. Read.
By the time I’m writing this, it’s late in the evening. I am so, so horribly tired. I can’t think, I can’t cocetate concentrate at all. My vision blurs and swims like my eyes are covered by water, and everything feels sore. All I want now is rest.
But I can’t.
I feel even more terror looking at that bed now. More than I had earlier today. More terror than I’ve felt before. My heart pounds in my chest so hard I worry my ribs will crack—a feet feat I know to be impossible. Yet still would be preferable to sleeping now. My limbs feel like stone. Better that than to see the nightmares beyond.*
I cannot sleep. I will not sleep.
*Update from days and a few naps later: I barely understand what in blazes I wrote here.
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