Lore, Sagas, Scenic, Short story


Oh but for the joy of sleep, a slumber unlike any other. To lay down my head and close my eyes and be gone until the coming of the dawn. To exist in nothing but visions or be a part of a darkened void for all but a little while.

It is the place in which I linger, in which a soul would grow. Yet here I am in this dark, my company a candle who shares my unrested place.

It tosses and turns back and forth as it dances upon its wick. Its rest coming when its life is extinguished, a fate I would hope I do not share.

Yet, relentless I stay awake though not of my own choosing. As though my dreams are being stolen by spirits who linger and seek their rest. Cursing me by stealing mine. As though I remain here paying penance for a deed long forgotten, a wound inflicted which has long since healed, its scars vanished and forgotten to time and the malice of that which haunts me.

I write, I walk, I wander and wonder of the world and all that was. Of all that could and would be in time, and everything that has come to pass or will come to pass to make that so.

Yet, my eyes remain sore and dry, unable to close for a purpose. The dawn and dusk come and go in their obnoxious way. Lighting the world and making it dark as if to mock my lack of rest.

I rise like any other to leave my place of dwelling. To harvest, to kill or butcher, to fish and gather wood for the flames to cook my meal and keep the cold at bay. I sweat and bleed and wash. I take a moment to listen to voices in the distance and whispers of the wind in the trees until that darkness comes to cover the sky in stars and bury the sun beyond the horizon.

Yet, again I am kept company by a solitary flame as the fire again dies down in its place. My bed inviting me like a river greets the thirsty, but whose embrace would drown those who come close. I sit and stare at the candle’s flame which dances before my eyes.

Perhaps it would not be so bad to follow as it is extinguished in its place. Perhaps the spirits who would otherwise steal my rest might leave the cold and dark I offer to take another in my place.

Oh but for the joy of sleep, a slumber unlike any other.


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