Tired: A Tale of Fears
Posted: Thu Dec 22, 2011 6:41 am
Maxwell:
Maxwell hated sleep.
Of course, he was normally up at nights, as it was the best time to hunt for mice. After Maxwell had had a few as a late supper, however, he would head back to his owner’s home. Lying down on his bed, the cat would glare intently up at the dull, pockmarked white ceiling. He wouldn’t move a muscle, and would try his best to blink as little as physically possible.
At eight in the morning, Maxwell would relax, get up and eat breakfast. He would go through the day annoying the neighbor’s pets as much as emotionally possible; the feline found it a serviceable and entertaining distraction. Once every few days, though, not even being frustrating would work. When his legs began to grow distressingly weak, and his eyes tried to close on their own accord, Maxwell would slip out of sight and find something to lie down on. Taking a deep breath, he would drift off into a heavy slumber.
The nightmare would come soon afterward, whether he slept for ten minutes or five hundred. Always, he dreamt the exact same thing.
*****
Maxwell found himself in a dark alley. Broken bottles and tumbled-over trash cans served as support for discarded, windblown newspapers. Rain almost flowed from the sky, as if Zeus himself was punishing the earth. Cracks of thunder illuminated the world, outlining nightmarish figures of monsters on the alleyway walls. Frantic car horns and screaming crowds clashed together mutely in the background, a dissonant yet quiet cacophony of sounds.
Maxwell stood at the end of the alleyway, facing a worn brick wall; a dead-end. The feline heard furious, incomprehensibly intermixed growls and hisses from behind. They were louder than the other noises, and overwhelmed Maxwell’s senses. Maxwell turned around, baring his worn and sharp teeth in a hopeless desperation.
He felt claws on his face. A horrible scream and a curious, rough ripping noise would interrupt a sudden silence. It would take a moment for Maxwell to realize that the sounds were his own.
*****
Maxwell wouldn’t scream when he awoke, or cry. Rather, he would stare straight ahead for minutes, his body locked in a terrified paralysis, his hands tightly clutching his right ear.
After he regained the use of his body functions, the cat would stand back up and continue with the day. He wouldn’t tell anyone about his dream, as he wouldn’t feel the need. Maxwell reckoned that he could still get through the day; why, then, seek help?
Only one animal was able to stop Maxwell’s nightmares: Grape. On particularly romantic days, the two would cuddle up together next to the HDTV in the Sandwiches’ living room. Watching any movie that the owners had lying around – Annie Hall, The Aristocats, Titanic – Maxwell would eventually fall asleep in Grape’s arms, the comfort of her fur chasing away his pain.
Maxwell hated sleep.
Of course, he was normally up at nights, as it was the best time to hunt for mice. After Maxwell had had a few as a late supper, however, he would head back to his owner’s home. Lying down on his bed, the cat would glare intently up at the dull, pockmarked white ceiling. He wouldn’t move a muscle, and would try his best to blink as little as physically possible.
At eight in the morning, Maxwell would relax, get up and eat breakfast. He would go through the day annoying the neighbor’s pets as much as emotionally possible; the feline found it a serviceable and entertaining distraction. Once every few days, though, not even being frustrating would work. When his legs began to grow distressingly weak, and his eyes tried to close on their own accord, Maxwell would slip out of sight and find something to lie down on. Taking a deep breath, he would drift off into a heavy slumber.
The nightmare would come soon afterward, whether he slept for ten minutes or five hundred. Always, he dreamt the exact same thing.
*****
Maxwell found himself in a dark alley. Broken bottles and tumbled-over trash cans served as support for discarded, windblown newspapers. Rain almost flowed from the sky, as if Zeus himself was punishing the earth. Cracks of thunder illuminated the world, outlining nightmarish figures of monsters on the alleyway walls. Frantic car horns and screaming crowds clashed together mutely in the background, a dissonant yet quiet cacophony of sounds.
Maxwell stood at the end of the alleyway, facing a worn brick wall; a dead-end. The feline heard furious, incomprehensibly intermixed growls and hisses from behind. They were louder than the other noises, and overwhelmed Maxwell’s senses. Maxwell turned around, baring his worn and sharp teeth in a hopeless desperation.
He felt claws on his face. A horrible scream and a curious, rough ripping noise would interrupt a sudden silence. It would take a moment for Maxwell to realize that the sounds were his own.
*****
Maxwell wouldn’t scream when he awoke, or cry. Rather, he would stare straight ahead for minutes, his body locked in a terrified paralysis, his hands tightly clutching his right ear.
After he regained the use of his body functions, the cat would stand back up and continue with the day. He wouldn’t tell anyone about his dream, as he wouldn’t feel the need. Maxwell reckoned that he could still get through the day; why, then, seek help?
Only one animal was able to stop Maxwell’s nightmares: Grape. On particularly romantic days, the two would cuddle up together next to the HDTV in the Sandwiches’ living room. Watching any movie that the owners had lying around – Annie Hall, The Aristocats, Titanic – Maxwell would eventually fall asleep in Grape’s arms, the comfort of her fur chasing away his pain.