My Christmas present, straight from your homegirl who understands that family parties are scary. Disclaimer: Hammy not mine. Neither is the Coldplay lyric from Viva La Vida.

~~~

Sleep isn't automatic.

It always happens gradually

Deceiving

You don't even realize

Your mind is

s

h

h

t

t

i

n

g

d

o

w

n

Floating

Suspended in a land

Only you

Witness.

Odd things happen in dreams.

Blackness takes forms

Squeeze your eyes hard enough

And you can tick moving lines

In nothing.

I embrace my mind's oddities.

Steering my ship is a simple task

I have control over

The bright lines and spirals

Not everyone has such a vessel.

REM is what non-dreamers call it.

Storyless pictures form

Tales of confusion

Storms drawn on sails

Pulled in close against the wind.

Those words meant to shock us into awe.

Looking at something enough

Carves it into your mind

You see it while passing

The lower decks.

They describe what we pretend to know.

Flashes of silent movies

Even the mind-made waves

Crash without sound

Against the worn wood.

But they lie.

Patterns trail across my vision

In falsely elegant lines

Filling the sails beyond

Their capacity.

I can't bame what my mind builds.

Dizzy circles and

Drunk squares

Zooming in and out of frame

They trap me in a spinning hell.

Some thoughts don't take form in words.

Shapes without shape

Multiply and divide

They grow bigger and smaller

Yet they don't move at all.

They create nightmares of show-and-tell.

Vertigo without vertigo

Claws scratch at

already tousled sails

Masts crush in clinging spears.

My dreams are soundless shipwrecks.

I tear at the sails

Lips closed in unvoiced screams

Rain and cold break my skin

My hands grab splintered shards

Of broken wheels

My hands don't bleed

Yet I feel them bleeding

My lungs don't make a sound

Yet it aches as they cry out

Lightning flashes. My ship breaks apart. The sails rip completely of the fragmented masts.

I open my eyes.

Flash a flickering

S.O.S. into the

darkness.

It fills as far

as my peripherals

pan across.

my muscles ache

from being curled

up in a tight ball

for so long. My hands

sting. I can't glance

at them. My mind

won't

let me.

You know the feeling

when you wake up

from a nightmare and

your mind shuts down

all of your nerves

and says "don't

move.

Your demons will

come back."

You're awake.

You're in reality.

Your brain says

"Stay there. Or

it

will hurt you."

I reach for the

light by my bed,

I see my arm

stretching out.

Nothing

stops

me, nothing hurts

in my vision.

Reach and twist.

Reach and twist.

Reach, twist.

Reach, twist.

Reach, twist.

Reach twist.

Reachtwist

Reachwist

Reacwist

Reach

Click.

Light.

My arm falls. I glance at the palm. Red lines score the clammy surface. The skin is broken, but not bleeding.

It hurts more that way.

I sit up sharply. Better to get it over with. My hips ache from the jolt.

I feel disgusting.

Shivering I wrap my arms around my waist. The fabric of my t-shirt is damp sticking to my skin like a too-tight glove.

My other palm throbs.

I pull it away from the sweaty shirt. The same lines most this time, mark the skin. I stare at both palms. My eyes trace every wrinkle, every indent, every tick and callus. There's so many lines. Too many lines.

Immediately I see snarling circles squares snapping at my eyes the lines jump out at me boring into my eyelids in jagged broken cracks

STOP.

Please.

I'm breathing hard. I feel my lips, my tongue, my teeth saying a silent, broken prayer, repeated over and over again.

"no no no no no no no no no no no no no"

I taste salt, different from sweat. It trickles in a straight line, from the corners of my eyes to the corners of my mouth.

Breathe, breathe, but not too fast.

Control it.

It's

not

real.

Right?

I'm not sure

anymore.

~~~

Z

z

z

z

"I used to ruuuuuuule the worrrrld, seas would rise when I gave the word, now in the..."

Womf

Wha?

"Mmmmmmmgh." I roll over and flop my hand around until it smacks my phone. I turn it over and wince, squinting my eyes shut against the brightness.

Someone's calling? This late?

I swipe Accepter and immediately put down the phone, plunging me back into the relieving darkness.

"Qu'est-ce?"

"Laf!" A lilting, high-pitched voice squeals from the speaker. "Ça fait tellement longtemps! Ça va?"

I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. "Adrienne?"

"Oui!" My childhood friend squeals again.

I sigh loudly so she can hear me. " Es-tu sérieuse, Adri? Maintenant? Il est-" I flip the screen again and check the time- "deux heures du matin. Exactement."

"Oh." I picture her on the other end twirling a small black curl right behind her ear: A nervous tic she adopted from her mother.

"Écoutezpeux-tumerappeler? S'il

tuplaît?" God, I sound high.

She sighs dramatically. "D'accord. Deux heures d'après-midi."

I can't help but smile. That still leaves me at eight in the morning, even if she calls in the afternoon. "Quatre heures, Adri."

"Trois heures."

I can hear her smirking. "Fiiiiine," I moan in English. "Bye, Adri. Je suis tout à vous."

"Je suis tout à vous."

She hangs up. I turn the phone off and roll... back...

over into...

my pil

z

z

~~~

Ssssh.

Ssssssssssh.

Surrp.

Ah.

Breathe. Breathe. Bre

Light touch.

I screech and whirl around, hand swinging half an inch away from Angelica's nose.

Peg?

She looks exhausted, yet elegant in her peachy pajamas. My sister never isn't elegant.

You okay?

I tap my ear and set the glass of water on ths counter.

"Yes, I'm good."

"You're lying." Her hand slides beneath her chin.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." She crosses her arms stupidly, then unfolds them. "You look-"

She pauses- "a-f-r-e-i-d. "

I flare my hands open across my chest. "Afraid."

She copies the gesture, storing it in her memory. "Afraid," she repeats. "Afraid."

Afraid.

That's all it amounts to.

One simple word

a catch-all term for

nightmare.

Nightmare doesn't even

get one word.

Bad dream

is the official title.

How pitiful.

Merciless hexagons gnashing sharp teeth-

NO.

Angelica turns, muscles tensing until a hand in a fuzzy teal cuff reaches around the corner and flicks the light switch.

The hallway floods over with warm white light. I catch Eliza's expression-a wince at the sudden brightness- before she rubs her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

What's going on? It's late.

She looks to Angelica for explanation. Whatever the latter says makes my sister's brow furrow.

"What's wrong, P-e-g?"

"I couldn't sleep."

Eliza's beautiful features soften. "Bad dream again?"

My eyes land on a blotchy ink stain lining the base of my palm, not making eye contact. I nod.

"P-e-g, I think you need to see someone about these dreams you're tired," Angelica says tiredly.

"Having," Eliza corrects. She presses both hands into her chest, fingers pointed in towards herself. "Are they more like dreams or h-a-l-l-u-c-i-n-a-t-i-o-m-s?" She's always been better at it than Angelica. Her fingers move fast, accidentally switching m for n.

I swallow. "The second one." I don't feel like spelling out "hallucinations". "But I haven't had one for a long time."

"You should still see someone," Angelica says firmly, crossing her arms as if the discussion is over.

She's not stable, Eliza says through clenched teeth.

No, wait. Three syllables. Unstable.

I never said she was unstable, Angelica shoots back, glaring at Eliza. Both of them have a narrowed expression.

It's times like these when I'm reminded of my sisters' beauty.

Angelica is all high cheekbones and long neck, regal features that match her lithe frame.

Eliza has a cheerful, rosy face that could either be called "sweet" or "full", depending on the person saying it.

I'm the shorter of the bunch, with neither Eliza's slender angles or Angelica's willowy form. I'm flat-out hourglass. No part of my body is even close to a straight line.

Sharp pinch.

I slap Angelica's hand away.

What?

Neither of you listen. I'm going to sleep.

She looks irritated. Night.

My sister walks off, hips swinging.

Eliza rolls her eyes and yawns. "We should go back to sleep, also." She steps over to the pantry and pulls a small bottle from the shelf. Opening it, she takes my hand gently and shakes a little pill into my palm. "Here."

I raise an eyebrow.

"M-e-l-a-t-o-n-i-n."

Right. I always wondered where she kept that stuff.

I set the little tablet on my tongue and swallow a gulp of water. "Thanks."

Eliza nods. "I'll turn off the lights. You go ahead."

~~~

The motion lights at my door flicker when I shut it. Plopping down on my bed, I reach for my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. I trace thick, smooth lines on the creamy pages.

Three for a triangle, four to a square. Rounded, imperfect and unbroken circles.

They say you should talk about your nightmares to erase them from your memory.

But there's other ways to erase.

Sleep isn't automatic.

It always happens gradually

Comforting

You accept that

Your mind is

s

h

u

t

t

i

n

g

u

p

Floating...

~~~

Author's Note: Whew! I went through a lot of editing for this chapter, so I hope you liked it. It's based off of a real dream people have known as "the geometric nightmare" or "the infinity nightmare".

Usually it is a shape of some sort growing or multiplying infinitely until it becomes overwhelmingly terrifying, sometimes shrinking down to an uncomfortable size. I had this dream a few days before I started to write the chapter and got inspired.

The new format introduces underlined words, which represents ASL.

Some words are misspelled or used out of context because the wrong sign is used (i.e. "Having/have" is signed as if pointing to your chest using all four fingers on both hands v.s. "Tired" which is signed by dragging your hands down on your chest while relaxing your shoulders).

What is italicized by Peggy but not underlined is a spoken word that she is lip-reading. Keep it mind that she was previously sleeping and isn't wearing hearing aids. Unlike someone putting on glasses at night, hearing isn't a necessity.

The French translated is:

"Who is it?"

"Laf! It's been so long? How are you?"

"Yes!"

"Are you serious, Adri? Now? It's... two in the morning. Exactly."

"Listen... can you call me back? Please?"

"Okay. At two in the afternoon."

"No... Four hours/4:00 p.m." (France time)

"Three hours/3:00 p.m." (France time)

"I am all yours."*

"I am all yours."*

*Those were her last words to Laf in real life. I made it a cute saying between close friends since being betrothed would mess up the plot.

For anyone curious about the time difference from France: New York is around six to eight hours ahead, depending on location.