Waking Up

Sometimes writing in the third person can provide greater freedom of expression.  

From, ‘The Note Book’ by Richard Dunn.

As usual, he woke with a start. The familiar feelings flooded his mind then his body. His skin burned in gentle waves, forcing him to throw off the bed covers, even though the air was cold. The sweat turned icy on his skin, making him uncomfortable yet giving welcome relief. He couldn’t keep still. He stood up in one movement and began to pace the room. A caged tiger, he needed to use up the adrenaline that had possessed his body, surging through him like a tidal wave. He knew the routine by now. He needed to be fully awake to rid himself of the terror that gripped him. He wanted to cry out in despair but couldn’t bring himself to disturb the quiet solitude of night that wrapped around him like a cloak.

The night. It was always the night. He had begun dreading going to sleep because he knew those feelings would come, uninvited, to haunt him. Some nights he woke with tears already running down his face. The fear would come to find him, as his mind lay unguarded. For him, Morpheus had become an unfriendly god. Was he going mad?

‘Tea, make some tea,’ he ordered himself. ‘Do something normal. Put the light on.’

He staggered downstairs. The empty house creaked as he moved but would not echo the footsteps of his bare feet. The quiet was unnerving and reinforced his sense of isolation. His lovely home, so bright and cheerful in the day had become his haunted house, his childhood ghost train.

With trembling fingers he switched on each light in turn, banishing his fears to the shadowy corners of one room then another. Tomorrow, in the daylight, he would wonder what all the fuss was about and mock himself for such childish fears. Tonight though, the dark had a sinister hold on him and his heart pounded in his ears, blotting out reason. Dread, beyond the reach of logic, held him tightly in its grip and his hands shook as he filled the kettle.