CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The 72-Hour Sleep Ban" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 31, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead: / the_72hour_sleep_ban Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep... ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: / creeps_mcpasta ►Instagram: / creepsmcpasta ►Twitch: / creepsmcpasta ►Facebook: / creepsmcpasta CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

The festival season is Aangbroken, and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to come to comest-com. On the look at a water-dict tent, a comfortable luget,

oh, so, knus, and Lupeart print regalarze. Miao. Now, he has Kim not for the modder, just like that

the dancing, the modder man there, oh, wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah,

only modder. DROG blithe? Goar for. Find what you need to get you need to I've always associated my birthday with that depressing time of here, where the cozy autumn turns into an early winter decay, where colourful leaves die, leaving a withered brown shell behind. Still, people are expected to celebrate their birthdays.

It's strange if one doesn't. I don't. My fiancé recently asked me why I never celebrate my birthday. and it's a hard one to explain. When you've been through something traumatic, everything sort of brings you back to that moment, one way or the other. And while I'd love to tell her about it,

I don't think I can without sounding like a maniac. I thought I'd start by just telling my story anonymously and sort of go from there. It was the year I turned 13. Since you've been gone, was blasting on the radio every hour of the day. My friends and I were quoting how I met your mother religiously.

It was a good time to be a kid. Since my birthday was in the middle of the school week, my big birthday plans were postponed until the upcoming weekend. Still, I couldn't complain. Birthday cake on a Tuesday didn't sound all that bad. I got home, had a small celebration with my parents, and opened a few presents. Two new games for my PlayStation 2.

I finished up my homework and browsed the net for a few hours ahead of my scheduled bedtime. When there was a knock at the door. We rarely had visitors. So to have someone knocking at our door at 10pm was unusual to say the least. My parents had already opened the door by the time I was halfway down the stairs. There was a man in a fancy jack. with a clipboard standing outside, along with two armed guards. I sort of fell into the middle of the conversation.

So, we need you to sign the consent forms and we'll get started. The clipboard man said. Any questions? This can't be legal, my mum said. And what kind of authority are you? Ma'am, this is an emergency. We have been authorized to bring anyone and everyone if need, But I promise you, it'll be a less pleasant experience than what you could achieve here in the comfort of your own home. As the discussion continued, the armed men pushed into the house. They had a sort of checklist they were going through, asking questions as they poked and prodded.

Someone mentioned a satellite phone, which we didn't have. I hurried back upstairs. From my window, I could see them putting wheel locks on our car. They were testing some sort of electrical equipment too, and as they did, I could see the internet connection on my computer disappear, my cell phone lost all bars, and while I didn't check, I suspected they'd done something to our landline as well. They were isolating us, putting us under some sort of lockdown. I still didn't have the slightest idea of who these people were.

There were no patches, badges, ranks or symbols, just a bunch of serious-looking men in windbreakers with visible gun holsters. After a few minutes, one of the men entered my room. My parents were worried sick, but were told to wait outside. The man was about 6'4 and had the look of someone who had to look. could kill me with his bare teeth if need be. Without a word, he started to go through my things. You got any walkie-talkies?

He asked. Any radio science projects? Something like that. Nope, I said, shaking my head. I got a PlayStation 2. That can go online, right? I never got the chance to answer before my mom added. We don't let him play online games, she said.

it can't do that, as if to make sure he pulled the power cable and dropped it in a sealed bag along with various knick-knacks and keys they'd collected. They weren't taking any chances, and I wasn't playing my new games any time soon, it seemed. As they finished up their impromptu house inspection, we were asked to gather downstairs. A fancy man with a clipboard cleared his throat, and the room fell death of it. silent. Even my dad, who was usually a very assertive man, didn't have much to add to the conversation. That's how you knew it was serious. For 72 hours, this and the surrounding neighborhoods are under lockdown. The man explained, there is a localized problem related to a recent

geological event which has caused some unexpected issues. I'm sure you've noticed some minor priorities as of late. Like what? My dad added. Milk turning sour, houseplants getting a strange color tint, swarms of frogs cluttering the roads. My parents said nothing,

but they nodded. Perhaps they'd seen something I hadn't. The man put down his clipboard as he explained calmly. You have been exposed as something akin to a chemical. It reacts violently to the release of certain hormones which are associated with deep REM sleep. To ensure your safety,

we are currently enforcing a temporary 72-hour ban on sleep. Excuse me? My dad took a step forward, but one of the armed men responded in kind. They both stopped before it had the chance to escalate. Exposure was approximately nine hours ago, meaning you have about 63 hours left ago. That'll be a problem.

approximately 1 p.m. on Friday. There's no way we can... This is non-negotiable. This is a matter of your security, sir. We have an emergency health service site, but I can promise you that it won't be pleasant. You will be chemically induced into sleeplessness for the full duration of exposure

until the event has passed. It can cause long-lasting brain damage. We were handed a folder each, explaining our responsibilities and rights, an unmarked red folder with three papers. One explaining their right to force this upon us. Another explaining that we'd already signed the consent papers. And a third one was a form explaining exactly when we could go to sleep.

There was also an inventory form explaining the items we were to have returned at the end of the containment. They left a box of 50 glass files. some kind of four-hour booster shots. The man explained how underage children were not to take more than one every seven hours and that my mother, if pregnant, shouldn't take any at all. Luckily, my mom wasn't pregnant. I'm an only child.

We were also given fiber bars with some kind of hormone supplement, unmarked and unbranded, but warm. Maybe they were made recently. the packaging was sloppy at best. The fancy man was trying his best to explain, and I could see my parents were eager to listen, but I barely understood half of it. Instead, I looked at the armed guards.

They looked exhausted. Maybe they too weren't allowed to sleep. One of them had his mouth open and almost drooled, blinking one eye at a time. I could have sworn, He nodded off for a second, which prompted him to take a walk outside. I don't know if we can do this, my mother complained. It's a lot to ask.

We've only just... If at any point you can't do this, you need to call this number. It's the only number that works. The man said, pointing to the final line on the final page of the folder. If someone falls asleep and can't be awakened within a few minutes, they're in terrible danger. If that happens, try to keep them awake by any means until we can get here to pick them up.

And then they'll be... And then they'll be... Taken to our sight in Mancato, where they'll be chemically induced to stay awake. So what exactly happens if... If someone doesn't make it? My mom asked, if we all just fall asleep?

The man shook his head. tapping the clipboard with his pen. They will most probably die. Others might too. While they went into the kitchen to explain the details, the angry-looking guard approached me with a sealed bag, handed me back my PlayStation 2 power cable. He gave me a pat on the shoulder.

I checked with the tech team, he said, you're good to go. And, uh, Happy birthday. I'd almost forgotten that it was my birthday. I appreciated the gesture, but I just couldn't bring myself to smile. I had too many questions bubbling in the back of my head, and I was too afraid to speak. They probably talked for another 20 minutes or so before the men left, leaving my parents and I alone in the kitchen. My mother was smoking under the kitchen fan.

I'd only ever seen her smoke two times, once when she lost the job and another time when her father got sick. Smoking in the kitchen was a surefire way to tell something was wrong. Dad was sitting with his arms crossed, looking at the box of booster shots. This is not a joke, my dad finally said. This is very serious. We're all going to need to help each other to get through this. Mom said nothing, but I could see her hands trembling. She'd been crying.

She was shaking so much that the ash from a cigarette didn't reach the ashtray, just plop down on the stove. You can't be alone, Dad continued. We're going to do our best to keep busy. You can play as many games as you want, but you can't fall asleep. They gave back my power cable, I said. Does that mean it's okay for me to use the PlayStation? It's okay, Mom coughed. It's okay, honey.

Play your games. For the first few hours, I didn't understand what the big deal was. No more school for the rest of the week, no bedtime and unlimited screen time. That didn't sound too bad. I gained late into the night. Sly 2 and Ratchet and Clank were on the menu, and I had a blast. I got some snacks

along with one of those fiber bars. They tasted like twigs and raisins, but it made my brain calm. Not tired, but it made it easier to focus. It also made it harder to shut my eyes, making my eyelids itch. All lights in the house were kept on

all throughout the night. Mom and Dad kept playing music on the downstairs stereo and they desperately tried to keep me engaged. I was engaged enough just playing games, so I think it was more for their benefit rather than mine. At 5 a.m., Dad took his first booster shot. I could hear it all the way from upstairs.

He was cussing pretty hard. Apparently, those things tasted like a mix of stale rice and death. Mom took her first booster shot. Half an hour later, but she mixed it with orange juice. Apparently, that helped. By 7 a.m., even I was feeling it. I'd never been up all night playing games like that on a school day before. Sure, I'd pulled all night as with my friends,

but it was usually something we prepared for. So, by early morning, I could feel myself nodding off. My parents were checking in on me every now and then and decided to act. We were having family breakfast, pretending as if we'd already slept. You're always cranky in the morning, mom said.

Try to imagine, this is just that, another cranky morning. I knew for a fact that they'd slipped one of those boosters into my cereal. I saw three empty files on the counter, and I knew none of them

had taken a second one yet. Still, I had little choice but to try. We weren't even halfway through the containment yet. As we finished our breakfast, we could hear commotion outside. I was upstairs brushing my teeth, watching through the hallway window. It was our neighbours, Larry Peterson, a 55-year-old man who worked the fishing supplies at the local mini-mall, crawled out of his front door. he was throwing up something black and blue onto the pavement.

I'd never seen this man do anything more physical straining than trying to start lawnmower, and now he was crawling on all fours like his life depended on it. I could hear his wife calling out from the inside. She was screaming at him, but I couldn't hear what. Larry got up and almost leapt into the back of his pickup truck in a show of athleticism I'd never seen from him before. It wasn't until his wife

got out of the house that I could hear what she was saying. Larry! She cried. Larry, wake up! I saw Larry Peterson grab a wrench

get out of the truck and grab his wife by the hair. Suddenly, a hand covered my eyes as my father dragged me away from the window. I could hear a scream turned into a gargle,

followed by a hearty laugh, one I'd heard a thousand times before. The same kind of laugh Larry Peterson would chuckle up whenever my dad tried to pull off a bad pun. My mind painted me a picture of what had happened, and it wasn't pretty. My dad spun me around and stared into my eyes. I could tell he wasn't himself. There were lines across his face that I hadn't seen before.

Stay with me and mom, he said, don't look outside. People are getting sick. Are we getting sick, Dad? I asked, a yawn escaping me. He shook me a little, as if to make sure I was paying attention. We'll be fine, he said, it's just a matter of time, but I don't want you to see people getting hurt. Larry isn't feeling well. There was a knock. on the front door. Dad took point as Mom hid in the bedroom. I remember standing on the top of the stairs, looking over the railing to the floor below. There was a violent, angry pounding on the door. Larry Peterson's soft chuckle coming from the other side. He didn't say anything.

He just pounded on the door with his wrench, laughing as he tried to get in. He went around the house, rattling our windows. He didn't get far before we could hear a car roll up. There was a popping sound, but not like a gunshot. I think they tased him. By the time I could hear Larry Peterson get dragged off. My mom had come upstairs with a smile taped to her face, asking me to show her how far had gotten in my new fancy video games.

She was clearly trying to keep me distracted, but I didn't mind. At that point, I wanted desperately to be distracted. I could imagine Larry Peterson on the other side of the door. His white t-shirt stained with that strange black and blue goo he'd thrown up, wielding that wrench with a manic grip. The thing was as large as my arm and solid metal. I never considered it a weapon, but thinking about it made my blood run cold. Had he really killed Mrs. Peterson?

Why? Mom and I spent the next few hours playing video games. We also made a plan. We went through our old DVDs and decided on a watching schedule. She had originally planned a walk, but now we weren't to leave the house. She didn't want to say why, but I had the feeling that there was something outside the Peterson's house that she didn't want me to see. Bloodstains maybe.

I was too afraid to find out. My parents tried their best to keep the mood up, but I could tell it was getting to them. My dad was mostly just standing there, leaning against the door, staring straight ahead like in a trance. Mom tried to occupy herself by playing games and watching DVDs with me,

but she was counting the minutes until she could get her next booster shot. I wasn't eager to take one. They made my stomach all queasy. We made it all the way until noon. Dad was having trouble staying up and kept washing his head with cold water. He tried to keep busy doing housework

that he'd kept for a rainy day. But there were constant distractions. We could hear sirens in the distance and at one point there was someone spraying off front door and windows with a high-pressure water hose, possibly to wash away the last traces of

Larry Peterson. There were dog patrols going up and down the street, along with the occasional phone call. The one number that still worked where someone called to make sure we were all awake and accounted for. By dinner time

mom was having stomach troubles. Her shaking had gotten worse, and she was having trouble with sudden change of smells. Dad kept rubbing his eyes and checking his watch, getting up every ten minutes or so, just to move around. We had decided that we were going to play board games after dinner, but Mom was having trouble keeping herself from throwing up. We ended up just reheating a lasagna from a few days back. I didn't mind. Mom made amazing lasagna. but my appetite was quickly lost when I saw my mother barely keeping it together. She kept trolling and making this weird chugging sound.

She was blinking slower and slower. Dad tried to get her to eat one of her fiber bars, but she just ran out of the kitchen, locking herself in the bathroom. It was touching go for a while. I could feel my heart racing as Dad tried to convince her to unlock the door. but she just couldn't do it. After a while, she stopped responding. Dad had to break the handle with a hammer.

But it was too late. She was already sleeping. I could hear her through the door. As the door burst open, Mom had only been asleep for a couple of seconds, a minute at most, but she was sitting on the toilet. her head leaning back, and something was coming out of her mouth, black and blue,

fingertips, poking out over the edge of her lips, her throat undulated. The moment Dad grabbed her, she tipped her head forward, coughing. Dad washed the face in the sink or yelling at me to wait in the other room. For a few minutes, I was just sitting there, ready to run or hide. It might have been too late, I figured. She could have already been affected, like Larry Peterson. I could hear them arguing in the other room, and as their voices went from angry to desperate to sad,

I didn't know what to do. When they finally returned, they sat me down to explain that we were going to be fine, that we were almost halfway through, and that we were in the home stretch. It was so kind, warm, and careful in the way they explained it. But my mind was a thousand miles away. I had trouble focusing, and all I could think about was that strange noise I kept hearing in the background.

Something outside. Dad was halfway through explaining how we weren't going to lock our bathroom doors anymore when something in me screamed at me to react. It was just a slight click, but it was clear as day. Maybe it was the booster shots, but I kept hyper-focusing on little details rather than big-picture stuff, like an actual conversation taking place in front of me. I closed my eyes, and no less than a second later, there was a loud bang. Someone was shooting at us.

It was only a couple of shots, but we dropped to the ground. One shot got lodged in the front door, while the other cracked the kitchen window. There were loud voices outside, laughing hysterically. They were talking, but barely making any sense. One of them sounded like she was trying to talk with food in her mouth. Mom and dad kept quiet as two more shots popped off. One of them hitting the kitchen light. With an electric spark it gave out, whacking out most of the kitchen.

I could hear someone running and laughing as they continued down the street. In the distance, there was more gunfire. Maybe someone responding in kind. We can't stay here, Mom whispered. We got to call them. You want to go where they put Larry? Dad answered. To be in a whole hospital full of these people.

They're shooting at us. We can't just... Mom quieted down and looked at me. She and Dad excused themselves to talk in private while I was asked to move upstairs. I was the stay away from windows and I couldn't sit or lie down. They'd be up to check on me in a bit.

But of course, I was too curious. While still hearing them argue downstairs, I checked. an upstairs window. I could see pretty far down the street, and in the distance I could make out a car stalling on the side of the road. The headlights were still on, but it was surrounded by at least six people. Two of them were dressed like the armed guards we'd seen earlier. It took me a while to realize there was an old man sitting in that car. I'd seen him around a couple of times, but I didn't know his name.

surrounding people were trying to crack the car windows with various weapons, tire irons, bricks, hammers, lead pipes, it didn't take them long to break through. They reached in to pull the man out. It was too far off for me to hear his screams, but I could vaguely see what they were doing. They held him down and covered his face with their hands, his eyes, his mouth, his ears, leaving only his nose to breathe through. and then they just sat there. It took me a moment to realize what they were doing.

They were forcing him. To sleep. After a few minutes, they let go of him. The old man slowly stood up, leaned against his car, and started to dry heave. After a while, the same blue and black goo that I'd seen from Larry Peterson started pouring out of his mouth, stopping only as he coughed up some kind of clot that could barely fit in his mouth, a clot that moved. As he straightened his back, he looked at the strange group,

and they walked down the street together. Some jogged, some sprinted, one of them crawled, but it looked like he held onto something with his teeth. Either that or something was coming out of his mouth, something long. As they hurried down the street, I could hear more gunfire. In the distance, coming from another way, I could see another group of people. At least a dozen, but heading in another direction.

Roaming gangs of sleep-deprived sick people. God knows how this thing affected them long term. When my parents were done discussing, they sat me down to explain that we were going to stay indoors and keep away from the windows, just in case. We were locking all doors and windows, closing all curtains, and not playing anything louder than necessary. We were to draw as little attention as possible.

Of course, I agreed. What choice did I have? That night, I could tell things were deteriorating. Dad almost took a double dose of booster shots, as he forgot he'd taken the first one, but Mum stopped him. There were no phone calls coming in. They stopped checking in on us. Mom even tried calling, but the line had been disconnected.

The gunfire outside was further away, but more frequent. We could hear cars honking, but no sirens. Then, there were the fires. At least two, somewhere downtown. We could see the smokestacks from afar. Mom wasn't doing well. She couldn't eat And at times she could barely stay on her feet

She kept talking out loud Even if no one was in the room with her And she had to lean against things to stay upright She couldn't keep the fibre bars down And she kept walking around with her head bobbing back and forth Dad tried his best to keep her active But he was having trouble as well No matter how many cold splashes he took to the face

he just couldn't stay attentive. I wasn't doing well either, but nowhere near as bad. I still had my appetite, and I took my booster shot, but I could feel the side effects. My hands kept shaking, and I had a nasty headache. There were these pinches down my neck, like someone was shocking me with a wet battery. I'd imagine things moving just outside of my vision.

I kept turning around to look at the wall, windows as I started to hallucinate that there were screens. By morning, there was a new problem. Both the power and the water had been cut. There was a small lake, a short walk from the house, and we had no choice but to try and get some water by hand. We had some drinking water stocked in the kitchen, but we needed some for the bathroom. Mom volunteered to go, but that That was out of the question. She could barely stand or make a coherent sentence. There was no discussion.

Dad had to do it. We watched him from one of the upstairs windows. The sun had just risen, bathing the withering landscape in long, sharp shadows, and a sickly bright glow. Mom was just staring blankly ahead, as if trying to remember what was so important. Isn't it your birthday soon? She said out loud. That was Tuesday, I responded.

Did you wish for you to get older? She asked. I wished for that. I want you to be able to get older. She looked at me and laughed maniacly. She blinked one eye at a time, a left eye lingering a bit longer than a right. Her eyes were surprised.

sunken and dark, and she kept going cross-eyed. I think she meant well, but that look she gave me was nothing short of terrifying. It was like she'd been reduced to a most basic self. My mom was still in there somewhere, but most of it was just gone. After about an hour, I spotted dad coming back. Mom and I were both relieved, but it didn't It didn't last long. I noticed he wasn't carrying any water. Moments later, I could see he wasn't alone. There were about two dozen more people coming with him.

Mom didn't seem to react. She just looked out the window and nodded to herself. For a moment, she was almost falling asleep standing up, her mouth moving up and down on its own, like a bass out of water. I could see something moving in her throat. I shook her, and in a moment of clarity, she looked out the window again. As I heard something pounding against the door downstairs, Mom pushed me into the closet.

She ran downstairs to get the remaining booster shots and dropped it all on me, along with a wristwatch and a couple of fiber bars. Someone will come get you, she said. Just wait and... and stay awake. I'll try to think of something. I didn't have time to protest before she slammed the closet shut.

I could hear a key slide into the lock downstairs. Dad may have forgotten something about who he was, but he hadn't forgotten how to use the house keys. I just sat there in the dark listening. I curled up into a ball, but I didn't want to get too comfortable. I could hear furniture being turned over, unfamiliar voices yelling obscenities or incoherent nonsense. A fight broke out and I could hear someone throwing something.

Another person ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, repeatedly kicking the bathtub. A woman screamed, then a man. There was a gunshot followed by windows being broken. I could hear a muffled scream as someone was held down. maybe like they did with the old men outside the night before i must have sat there for hours in the dark it was hard to tell if my eyes were open or not i couldn't tell if i was really hearing something outside or if i was just imagining it i could hear voices and whispers but they didn't seem to make sense sometimes i imagined them standing just outside my door asking me for the cheat codes for the game game I just played. All I had to keep my waning sanity company was my mom's wristwatch, and I could barely make it out. Time passed so strangely. I could be wrapped in a thought for what fell like hours, but only minutes passed. Then I catch myself staring straight ahead,

and two hours could disappear. I kept repeating the next scheduled hour for the booster shot like a mantra. The things were getting stranger. The clock would go backwards. I'd imagine someone sitting across from me, a pair of white eyes staring back at me from the dark. There were little voices telling me to go to sleep, and I found myself nodding off.

I could feel something moving in me, like a hand trying to fit into a glove. I finally gave up and got out of the closet. I could barely stand as I dragged the booster shots and fiber bars along in a plastic bag. I didn't care if there was anyone downstairs. I needed to see something. I needed light or some kind of stimuli. The whole house was trashed.

Every piece of furniture broken, every light smashed. There was blood splatter on the walls and the front door was hanging on a single hinge. Every window was smashed and our picture frames had been thrown across the room like ninja stars but the strangest thing was an acreed smell coming from the kitchen

at first I didn't understand what it was it looked like a person but there was the wrong number of limbs after a few seconds of adjustment and trying to force myself to clarity

I realized it was a dead dead body. A young man with a knife sticking out of his chest, splayed out on the kitchen floor. His jaw was extended and broken on one side. There was a black and blue arm reaching out of his throat, reaching upwards to grab his own head. Something in me stirred. Something in me didn't like what I was looking at, and I wasn't sure if it was me or something else. I tried to push it down. I with a fiber bar, which strangely worked. I made my way outside in a daze.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to find my parents. Another part of me wanted to get out of town. I wanted to look for a bike or just start walking or catch a bus. Of course, there were no buses to catch, but my sleep-deprived mind couldn't separate fact from fiction anymore. That entire night was working. one long living nightmare. I kept imagining things coming out of the dark. I could hear voices

telling me to turn around, to stop, to run, all at once, and none at all. I could barely keep my balance, and stopping, even for a moment, would send me straight to sleep. I had to keep moving. I even took an extra booster shot, which just gave me the sharp jolt of pain and made me sweat. I could tell I'd done something stupid. I took a shortcut through the park. I could see faces coming out of the trees. I saw a man lying down on the gravel path being pulled forward by an arm coming out of his mouth. I saw a man out by the lake, repeatedly slapping his arms against the cold water surface, like a maniac child trying to get as high a splash as possible. Some of it was real. Some of it wasn't. I couldn't tell which was which. Not anymore.

When I finally reached downtown, I saw at least two dozen people gathered outside a burning building, all of them with black and blue arms reaching out of their mouths, stretching towards the flame, as if slowly wafting air towards them. Like human kelp, moving against an invisible current, They leaned back and forth in unison, praising whatever chaos they caused without a word or sound. And yet, I could hear them, welcoming me, beckoning me, all voices unique, carried to me by an unfelt wind closer. It begged, you believe. I turned away, and the voices grew louder, desperate, screeching, demanding me. my attention, my devotion. Some of them coming from outside, some of them coming from the rumble

of my stomach. It's already here, it laughed. It'll never go away. It'll never sleep. It'll never stop. Hands reached for me. A face in every window, voices reaching from beneath the concrete. Gunfire, broken windows, glass cracking under my rubber boots as I shuffled past burnt-out cars. It was dark, then bright, then dark again. And at some point, I succumbed. I felt concrete against my cheek, but I couldn't bring myself to get up. My legs wouldn't move, my eyes wouldn't open. Yes, the voices laughed.

Come, come to us, come burn with us. And then, darkness. I don't know how long I was out. Hours, maybe half a day. I woke up to see a man running towards me, asking me if I was okay. A car had pulled over, bathing me in a warm light. By the side of the road, a colony of frogs looked at me. In the distance, my eyes landed on a discoloured flower.

It had turned blue. strange how you don't notice the most obvious changes until they stare at you in the face. Turns out, exposure had happened at least six hours earlier than the man with the clipboard had predicted, and I'd been awake long enough for most of the effect to pass through my system. I was found unconscious by the side of the highway, about nine miles from my house. While I did have an uncomfortable dreamless sleep, the effects it had. were nowhere near as bad as what had happened to most of the neighbourhood. I'm sure you've all heard of it.

Riots, they called it. Just another mess up in a low-income area. I don't even think it reached national news. Some of the people who succumbed to it early got permanent brain damage. Larry Peterson was never the same. But it was hard to tell if it was because of the emotional trauma or the sleep thing. Either way, he had to have a nurse come to look after him a few times a week for the rest of his life.

Mom and Dad weren't completely unharmed either. Mom developed some kind of narcolepsy after that night, spontaneously nodding off at the most inopportune times. Dad lost this sense of taste and smell. To this day, they're having a hard time explaining what exactly they experienced. them, it was just like going to sleep and having the most horrible nightmare, only to wake up in a hospital bed. Sometimes I wonder if I did fall asleep. Some of the things I saw was so strange that there was no way to tell if they were real or not. I vividly remember that

scene of hands waving back and forth outside that burning building downtown. It had to be real. That building really did burn. As you might imagine, I have a hard time looking back at this. Thinking too much about it gives me this icy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like some part of me believes that this is all just a big nightmare, that I'm still just a clock's tick away from waking up in that closet, with someone standing just outside waiting for me. Or maybe.

It's something inside of me, still waiting to grab the reins. Maybe. It's just a night away.