When you wake up over and over and over and over and over and over again and you're still not awake, you stop trusting the solidity of reality. You crave light and you get up and go stand in the garage with all the bright lights bathing you, flooding down, but you're still not sure. You see a movement; no; maybe. Too many dark corners. You flee back into the house; to the converted office with the twin bed. Even though the ceiling light is glaring down, you have to open the closet; afraid of what's there. You turn on the closet light, peer into corners, but you can't see everything at once. You leave the closet door ajar and lay on the twin bed, but now you can't see behind it; between the door and the wall. Are you awake? You don't know. There's a quiet snort. But the lights are all on. If they suddenly went off for no reason, you know you will scream; you know they’re going to go off; you're afraid you will die. Your body is tingling from your shoulder blades through your hips to your legs, and arms and the top of your head. The door moves ever so slightly and your brother peeks out from behind. Noooooooo! He shouldn't be here. You know now you're not awake. The closet light goes out. The overhead light goes out. What else? What else! You jump at him, at his shadow; the closet light comes back on; and you take his head in your hands, curling your fingers through his hair and try to smash his head against the wall. You are moving in slow motion, and the wall has give like thick foam rubber, and his face elongates and his neck swivels and his eyes smile up at you and you hope you're not awake. Then there is your Mom. She says she just baked cookies and asks if you would like some in your lunch and you just want to wake up. But instead you sleep. And you open your eyes just a little and you see the play of car lights coming thru the window across the walls, but car lights shouldn't be that bright coming thru that window. Back in the dark bedroom again. Not quite right. You know it's not quite right. And you look across the bed at your brother who's smiling as if he has a secret. You remember he shouldn't be there. And he puts a pillow on your chest and you can't breathe and suddenly there is a weight straddling your chest and you try to turn but you can't move; and a voice comes from where the head should be, but you can't see and you don't understand. Gibberish. And you scream. And this wakes you up. You try to keep your eyes open. But you're so tired. You close them for just a second. You open them again; quickly. Everything looks normal. But are you awake? Were you awake a second ago? You don't know. You feel like you'll never know. You crave light. But you're afraid. And you're so tired. You think, I'll close my eyes for just a second. And you do. And your heart hurts. And you’re so afraid. But you can’t wrest your eyes open. You hear movement; a swishing sound; you try to scream, but all that comes out is a dry click-clacking sound. One eye opens ever-so-slightly, and you see shadows, moving in the dark. How is that possible! Then nothing. Quiet. You ask yourself again; Am I awake? And again. So tired. You fall back asleep, and you dream that you wake up, and it’s the middle of the day; plenty of light; sunshine. Everything appears normal; but you don’t know. Not sure. You wake to sleep and sleep to wake and it no longer makes sense and it no longer matters. You sleep; afraid to wake. Not knowing. Uncertain. You scream. Forever.