Post by Patrick O'Connor on Mar 30, 2009 17:44:55 GMT -5
There were rings around his eyes. It was quite evident that he had not slept in a few days. He hadn't been able to close his eyes. In the past few days, nights rather they had been getting worse. The dreams.
Graphic and vivid they were about a lot of things. There was no end to them. Sometimes they were about school, sometimes about life outside of school. Always about events at least a year and a half old, and always ending with her. Graphically filled with violence Patrick was always forced to watch each and every second of them. Most of the time there was some ominous figure in the background folloeing him or watching him. Waiting, just waiting for failure or tragedy, most often both. Sometimes in the end the figure revealed himself sometimes not. There were two different identities of the figure in the back. Sometimes it was Vaughnn Clarke, the devil himself. The man that Patrick had worked so desperately for back in the day, trying to bring him and the Corpral punishment system tumbling down. The other figure appeared more often then not and, well, that was best not to be revealed. Taunting him always until the end until he finally failed and they revealed themselves when he failed to save Zea.
Patrick always woke up screaming from these dreams. Sometimes he hit his head on the roof of his truck and sometimes he set of the horn but always he woke up screaming her name. It was endless, everytime he slipped into REM sleep he did this which on average was two or three times a night, accompanied there after by hours of lying in his seat sobbing himself back to sleep. That or he drank himself into a stupor, that usually was the option, though as of late the dreams were coming through anyway.
So there Patrick stood, in the middle of the day under a tree. Standing in the shade his head hung low, allowing his hair to cover his face. His face did in fact hold a somber look on it, contemplative and deep in thought. Unobstructed by dreams or alcohol he allowed himself to relive that day once more in full. Grimmacing in pain he knew that without sleep he couldn't stop the memmories, and the pain, from comming. He also knew that alcohol was unlikely to help to. He was definatly on edge, though he was in a lot of pain. There was no telling what the irish teen would do if confronted about skipping class, or what ever. He might try and kill the kid or he might just break down. Not even Patrick himself knew.
Out of restlessness and paranoia Patrick looked up and tightened his black fingerless gloves before hanging his head again. He was certainly lost, hurt and confused. And this lack of sleep, wasn't helping...
Graphic and vivid they were about a lot of things. There was no end to them. Sometimes they were about school, sometimes about life outside of school. Always about events at least a year and a half old, and always ending with her. Graphically filled with violence Patrick was always forced to watch each and every second of them. Most of the time there was some ominous figure in the background folloeing him or watching him. Waiting, just waiting for failure or tragedy, most often both. Sometimes in the end the figure revealed himself sometimes not. There were two different identities of the figure in the back. Sometimes it was Vaughnn Clarke, the devil himself. The man that Patrick had worked so desperately for back in the day, trying to bring him and the Corpral punishment system tumbling down. The other figure appeared more often then not and, well, that was best not to be revealed. Taunting him always until the end until he finally failed and they revealed themselves when he failed to save Zea.
Patrick always woke up screaming from these dreams. Sometimes he hit his head on the roof of his truck and sometimes he set of the horn but always he woke up screaming her name. It was endless, everytime he slipped into REM sleep he did this which on average was two or three times a night, accompanied there after by hours of lying in his seat sobbing himself back to sleep. That or he drank himself into a stupor, that usually was the option, though as of late the dreams were coming through anyway.
So there Patrick stood, in the middle of the day under a tree. Standing in the shade his head hung low, allowing his hair to cover his face. His face did in fact hold a somber look on it, contemplative and deep in thought. Unobstructed by dreams or alcohol he allowed himself to relive that day once more in full. Grimmacing in pain he knew that without sleep he couldn't stop the memmories, and the pain, from comming. He also knew that alcohol was unlikely to help to. He was definatly on edge, though he was in a lot of pain. There was no telling what the irish teen would do if confronted about skipping class, or what ever. He might try and kill the kid or he might just break down. Not even Patrick himself knew.
Out of restlessness and paranoia Patrick looked up and tightened his black fingerless gloves before hanging his head again. He was certainly lost, hurt and confused. And this lack of sleep, wasn't helping...
