I am writing this under the sickly orange sky—the daylight fast fading, and my will along with it. My supply of The Dragon is exhausted, and I promised at its end I would drive this car into the nearest tree or telephone pole, abutment of a bridge, or even down a ravine—anything to end my life and the nightmare I've lived for months.
His name is Morpheus. He rides into my room on an anemic, ebony mare, her skin stretched over sharp ribs, maggots crawling in a stringy mane, eyes aglow with sinister intent. They smell like the dust of bones, the rot of corpses, the fear that swirls everlasting in Hell.
The first visit came with the last fall of the autumn leaves. I'd gone into my room in the garret that overlooked the cobblestone courtyard. I stretched out on the futon, the last smile of content against my lips, and began to drift into blessed sleep. I felt an immense weight on my chest at the base of my ribs and my heart exploded, my eyes flew open and were transfixed to the ceiling. I could not blink, I could not breath, I could not clutch at my neck with futile panic—paralyzed, I heard the braying of death's horse and the clomp of her determined hooves through the miasmal ether beyond the wall of unconsciousness.
My stomach flipped beneath hammering heart. I felt the demon straddle my frozen legs and he crawled up my prostrate form to the sit on my chest. He looked down into my terrorized face with eyes red as lava, skin the color of burlap. He inched, ever closer, until his visage eclipsed my limited sight of the room.
"Yes," he said softly, like a hissing snake. His breath was a putrid sulfur that poured into my flaring nostrils. I heard the stomp of hooves on the floor as he withdrew his face, and caught the glimpse of the horse's head in the corner of my frantic eye.
The pressure released with the braying of the mare and I dared not move. I began to cry softly. I didn't sleep that afternoon or night, but after nearly two days without sleep, I gave in, and nodded off at my desk in that same garret room.
I don't know how long I was out—three seconds, three hours or three days, but at last I heard that echoed clomping and his putrid breath on the back of my neck, the hissing of an eager "Yes," and I sat upright and looked about me in the darkness. Nothing was there but my fear and confusion. I went to the futon and curled into the fetal position with my face to the wall and there I remained until the morning light awoke me.