The Monster of the Night

When the Monster of the Night gets hungry, it hunts for me. When I first see it rearing its ugly head, I duck, cringe, tremble at the sight of it. I look for exits. There are none. Its flaming eyes with pinpoint pupils penetrate to the depths of my soul.

A long, pointed tongue with sharpened edges darts out of its mouth, grabs me and pulls me in where teeth like a shark’s await. Its bulging biceps and muscular forearms and strong hands and long, sharp fingernails grip me and support my weight while it has its way with me.

I fight back. I try to gain control. But I’m too weak. It slams me, gouges my eyes, kicks me in the stomach, punches my face and head relentlessly. It always wins. Its iron grip and strangle hold are too much for me. I surrender.

After fighting with the monster, the backs of my eyeballs ache. My brain is numb and impenetrable. I exist in a zombie-like state, going through life’s motions paying little attention to where I am or what I’m doing. The Monster consumes my life. My world shrinks. From what little I can see, I’m the only one in my life.

For more than 30 years I’ve fought insomnia, and I…HATE…it.

(c) Copyright 2006-2010 by Mike Hooker