"I can't get to sleep..."
"I don't know...afraid to, I suppose..."
"What do you have to fear?? It's not like you're six and you fear the demons in the dark. Even if you did, there are none..."
"There are, if I close my eyes..."
"You're afraid of being caught unawares...HAH! but seriously, who do you think will get you here, in your own home, on your own bed!? No one can touch you..."
"I'M NOT AFRAID OF THAT!!"
"So you will say..."
"I'M NOT!! I don't have to prove it to you, of all the people...I'm afraid of what I see and hear and feel when I'm asleep...as simple as that..."
"Ah..I see..perhaps because you dream of THAT?? Is that why you can't bear to lose yourself to sleep? Afraid that your sleeping mind will overthrow the illusions in your waking one??"
"No...I don't care what you say...you know, you've been in my head...you know...I can't forever run from somthing that never even happened, to begin with..."
"Then why run?? Why the drama, the pretence of the chase??"
"Because I can't bring myself to believe that it's over...that it'll never surface again..."
"So now you live in fear of reliving something that never happened?"
"As long as these images keep playing in my mind, I'll always feel hunted..."
"You're pathetic...too weak to face the past and cut it down once and for all, too weak to chuck it and move on..."
"I don't wanna chuck what has made me me...I want it to be acknowedged first, then demythified...then destryoed...is that too much to ask for??"
"Some would say so..."
"I know and I'm my own proof...and that keeps me...but sometimes it's not enough, not nearly..."
Sometimes, when you're combing your hair or when you're typing a report, you think of what you were thought to be, what you still might be thought as...and you crumble into a thousand, dirty, ugly pieces...It lasts for a few minutes, for hours at times...then, sometimes, like now, it lasts for days and weeks and you shrink within yourself...shrink till there is little that identifies you as human save for your outwardly appearance...
If there was a devil and a hell, it must be a weak, sinful, unmoving lump, crouched in a corner of a surgically-sharp imagination, awake, scared, angry, in pain and waiting for a doom that will never come, but is ever anticipated...