Tantalus

A curse. That is what he possesses. It halts heavy eyelids and brings discord to his actuality. With it, the realization of rest is negated. Each moment splits his head as he attempts to clean himself of his need for subsistent slumber. Seconds creep by, in unison with the breath of its victim. The passing moments move by with agonizing patience, counting down the hopeful end of consciousness.

His eyes lock unto the speckled ceiling. The desperation he feels is unhindered by the realization that battles are mote points. The click of the clock is reverberating. The hand moved closer and closer towards an end result dreaded by the watcher, for there exists only wasted potential at the end. 

He stretches out his hand towards the white ceiling, and considers the outline of his fingers against the dark backdrop. They are barely within sight, as the light creates vague silhouettes. Within the world ruled by lack of light, he sees shape shifters and other creatures that stand as two dimensional entities who glaze over the walls of his constricting room. The shapes transform depending on the movement of his ever darting mind, taking shape when he least expects them too. They react to his movement, as if they possessed telepathic powers, which enables them to not only read his movements and mind, but to also delve into the deepest caverns of his fears, bringing forth terrors of illogical proportions. 

The corners of his room is where they hide. The brutish cowerers slide from edge to edge, finding solace in the areas of complete darkness. They peak cruelly in order to mock their enemy with a flicker of movement, for they need only to appear for an instant to initiate a panicked response. Although he sometimes scream, they ignore his pleas for peace. Their lack of empathy is what makes them great. Their lack of dignity is what allows them to be terrifying, and their incalculable patience grants them the ability to enjoy the hunt.

Sometimes, when he is desperate, he will close his eyes and block his ears. He wishes himself to be blind, deaf, and dumb in order to free himself of his demons. Sadly, despite all his attempts, they follow him, finding new ways to excite themselves. He doesn't know if they procreate, and therefore assumes that their games of cruelty brings forth a revelry equal to that of physical pleasure. Instead of blind fornication, they take solace and meaning in the dread they bring forth from his deeper self. Sometimes, when they grow bored of toying with him, usually during a night in which the moon is at its strongest, they grow, and take over the room as a single weapon, blunt in nature. The subtly of movement disappears, and one is left staring at an article of pure force, acting in perfect unison as it swells to magnificent malice. It then disappears. The light has taken over, and illuminates enough crevices that the organisms of the wall have lost their substance, and no longer dwell within the cracks created by the superficiality of darkness. 

As he lays upon a drenched pillow, he goes limb in exhaustion, forcing his muscles to relax and his mind to unwind into rationality. The night slowly subsides, and his eyelids begin to lower. His mind unhinges itself from consciousness and slips into the deep pools of unconscious reality, where the fears are deeper, but bearable. Although there exists no peace in this state, there exists a form of rest, and a hint of compassion.