Sleep, what sleep? I hear those around me speak of how much sleep they get and of how their dreams are full of fun, romance, and occasional horror. For me, sleep is a sporadic event that sneaks silently upon me. My sleep is a continuously repeating terror— my personal hell. Rock by rock, I am placing rock by rock upon a wall. This wall is essential, but I don’t know why, but I do know that I cannot stop building the wall. As I build, the wall never gets longer, wider, or higher, but each rock fits perfectly into the wall as though that exact spot was carved for that specific rock. Each rock is so heavy that every muscle in my body burns as I pick it up from the pile of rocks near me, and I scream in pain as each rock scrapes the hot sweaty skin from my arms and my legs, as I maneuver it into the proper position. After placing the rock in its place, the red raw meat that makes up my arms and my legs is rejuvenated into healthy, normal tissue, and the rock I just placed on the wall disappears, so I pick up another rock and the process repeats until the sun sets and darkness covers the lands.

The sun sets and I return to the cave in which I live. It takes twenty-one steps on the narrow dirt path that leads to my cave, and I walk tiredly along the short narrow path, I take a brief moment and gaze at the walls that surround me. I live in a cave on the side of a cliff that is larger than the grandest canyons. Thousands or even millions life in caves dug into the rocks of the u-shaped canyon, and each person is hanging their heads towards the ground and counting the steps that lead to their caves. Although each cave is close to the other, no one speaks; they just walk the path to their caves. I tilt my head slightly to the right so my head does not hit the ceiling of the hole that marks the entrance to my cave. The cave is dark, and there is no light that can be switched on. As I begin to take off my shirt, I hear a loud noise, and pressure fills my chest, and my heart flutters as rapidly as that of a hummingbird’s wings. I turn and stare out of the entrance of the cave, and large rocks are rolling and tumbling down the side of the cliff. I cough and choke as the thick brown dust fills my lungs. When the air clears and the dust settles, the effects of the rock slide becomes apparent.

The entrance to the cave is saturated with rocks, and although weary, I begin to move the rocks one by one. Like building the wall each rock is painful and heavy, but I must clear the door. I work diligently to finish clearing the door so that I might be able to rest, but resting never comes for as soon as the last rock is moved, the sun illuminates the cave, and I refuse to look at the cave, or do I think about resting. I lower my head and count the steps back to the wall. Once I get back to the wall, the dream begins again.

When I awake, I am drenched in sweat, my eyes are milky, and I lay terrified of what has or will happen. The terror I feel comes from the dream or what some people may refer to as a night terror, but that is not the worst of it. What really terrifies me is when I awake, my arms and legs sting and burn as though the skin has been removed. My shoulder, groin, back, and every other muscle in my body aches as though I actually moved the rocks. Then I sense an overwhelming eerie feeling cased by the vividness of the dream itself.

I fear that Satan, himself, is eagerly waiting for me, and since it may awhile before I die, he is introducing me to my new home, my new eternity. I am in no hurry to make the move to hell. So I continue to ask myself: Sleep? What is sleep?