Dark stories, tales of whimsy and random brain droppings.

At Night

I lay awake on the top bunk, listening to my brother’s rhythmic-breathing below me, desperately wishing sleep to overtake me. I wonder if the wormy sparks and swimming flashes of trickery that my eyes pick out of the dark are real. If I look at them from the corner of my eye, at the periphery of dreamscape, I can just make out their teeth.

Photo by russellstreet

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