Random Encounters: Home

Let Me Sleep On It

Nate rubs his eyes, wiping the tiredness away. Realistically, he'd never been tired up to this point, one's need for the most basic of things is stripped in this realm. Despite this, there's a lingering fatigue and it's drained most if not all of his energy.

"You should sleep," the voice mentions.

Nate shakes his head, "No, no, I'm fine."

He wipes away some of the ink from his forehead. Ink from when he fell in that void. His eyelid is heavy, he needs to sleep. He looks around him, the brick pathway beneath his feet is cold and jagged. It cuts the bottom of his feet, but only slightly so, nothing that would cause him too much pain or agony. The trees tower over him, reaching out for the stars and moon. He yawns.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep?" The voice asks, softly, as a white swoosh swoops in front of him.

It's merely a blob of matter. It shows soundwaves across its surface as the voice speaks. Nate studies the figure.

"I'm fine," he responds, looking at his feet, continuing to walk.

The white blob swirls around him, playfully.

"But you're tired," it whispers in his ear, "Why don't you rest a moment?"

Multiple, different colored blobs fly down from the sky, molding together to form a bed. Nate stares at it, feeling his entire body tense up from fatigue. One nap wouldn't kill him. He walks up to the bed, running his hands over the sheets. He sits on the edge, sighing. Laying his head on the pillow, he closes his eye slowly, ready to drift off into the land of nod.

"You're going to die," a raspy voice whispers in his ear.

Some form of sharp object is pressed against the middle of his back. Nate opens his eye quickly in panic, turning over. But no one's there. His imagination, it has to be his imagination. He sighs, closes his eyes again, reassured that no one will kill him.

"That's right, go to sleep," the raspy voice whispers again.

The sharp object is moved to his throat, a blade. Cold against his warm skin. His eye snaps open again, this time his breathing matching his panic. The blade disappears from his throat. He groans, rolling onto his back. He attempts to sleep again.

"Boo." The raspy voice cackles.

There's pressure on Nate's torso, as though someone is sitting on top of him, pinning him to the bed. The voice continues to cackle as Nate struggles, squirming under the weight, trying to open his eye, trying to wake up... But he can't. He can sense the person raising a knife, a sword, a... something, over his chest. The blade is thrust into his chest and Nate sits up quickly, opening his eyes, breathing rapidly. He looks around, and swallows as he realizes he's in his room, at home. His breathing slows as he looks down. Any scarring, burns, cuts, everything, is gone. The stitches in his head have disappeared and he feels his chest where the y-incision was, it's gone.

He looks around, confusion painting his face. He sighs out of relief, perhaps everything was just a raw fever dream. Something his brain made up when sleeping. Perhaps he's not in Dimension 13, no, no, he made it all up. This causes him to relax, he jumps off his bed, eager to greet Gwen and AJ and tell them about the twisted fantasy he just endured. He opens the door with vigor, taking a step out into the hallway.

Swoosh.

The noise he makes as he begins to plummet. He flails his arms and legs in an attempt to stop himself from falling. He looks up as the light emanating from his room becomes a mere dot in the darkness. He falls, and falls, and falls, for what feels like hours. When he finally hits the bottom, it doesn't register until minutes later. He wasn't aware the cracking and crunching was all his bones breaking. He struggles to breathe, a rib punctured one of his lungs. He lies there in agony, waiting for someone, anyone to find him, to help him.

To end his suffering.