Fearing Sleep

Going PG for themes, not language or graphics necessarily.
I wrote this the other night while waiting for sleep... how weird is that? o.O

Edit: A re-working of the "original" hopefully fitting in all issues It still leaves a lot unanswered... but I am contemplating a sequal of sorts.
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I lie awake in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Muted noise spurns the silence as it trickles through my blinds and three o’clock blinks red on my clock radio. I can hear the thrum of the refrigerator and the scurry of clawed feet on my balcony floor.

While I lie fighting against the panic, the familiar growing dread, I feel my traitorous lids shutter closed. Images gather quickly across their insides as if converging upon a well-rehearsed play. For the hundredth time in an hour I force my eyes to snap open, seeking frantically about the room.

Infrequent light glances across my emerald walls, making the shadows dance. The eerie glow is comforting as my eyes flit across my bare furniture. Both the desk and bookshelf are shrouded in darkness, yet their solid presence calms me.

As my paranoia recedes and I realise the absurdity of this particular fear. I wonder, briefly, what I would have done had there been an intruder. I abhor violence, the unnecessary expenditure of energy, it disagrees with my sensibility. Perhaps the combined green of the wall’s glow and my staring eyes would have deterred the enemy. Slowly I lay back, scoffing my unrealistic musing. Shifting my weight amongst my multitude of pillows, I find a plethora of perfect places for rest, and each one pleading for my back to call them home.

Even now, as I lay procrastinating, it seems as if fear drips from my ceiling into my eyes. Coating them in sticky panic. Before me the drips multiply; the forceful current cascading towards me. My terror grips me; forcing tired limbs to flail wildly and I try to thrust my body from its suffocation. Even while conscious, the fears of that sleep slips in unnoticed.

It is not the act of sleep that I fear. No, it is never that easy; it is much more. It is in that one moment, that one instant in time that thickens my heartbeat and sends my senses reeling. In that one horrific moment anything can happen; life, death, insanity, there is no discrimination. I feel as if I could, and do experience each one tenfold. There is no escape.

If I could name this thing, this terrifying element of nature, I would call it Limbo. There are stories, legends, myths all about Limbo, yet each one tells of a different feeling, a different scenario. There is no other name for it, no other description that could explain this tear between wakefulness and sleep.

In this one moment of Limbo it is my soul that suffers, of this I am sure. I have died a thousand times and each time my soul tears itself from my body and careens into the Dream Lands. I have tried, a thousand times, to halt this speeding urgency but to no avail, my soul is destined to soar. As I feel my spirit rush towards the Dream Lands I feel the indecisiveness of its movement, the split in the where of my soul’s destination. It is no longer seeking its way into dreams, no; it is now tumbling into the horror that is Nightmare.

Nightmare, a child’s fear brought to life. This world that my soul’s eyes gaze into is not the earthly grit of life, neither is it the heavenly swirls of the Dream Lands. Nightmare is its own creation, an entire world for the fears and terrors of each and every dreaming being in existence since the beginning of time. To soul step into this world is to experience over and over the futility of life.

In Nightmare I am all that I hate and fear. My hands are held out before me smeared with blood. As my eyes gaze down at my trembling fingers, they seem to fall away from me. I am growing beyond my short years and leaving behind all I thought I knew. Still, my hands are caked with blood. It nestles in the wrinkles of my joints, my lifelines. The terror I feel in Nightmare will last long after I have left.

Even in the Dream Lands I find myself changing. My heart soars with happiness as I linger with those I love; playing and laughing. The Dream Lands place a heavy burden on my soul; they tease me, mock me.

I am thrust into Limbo with great gusto, as if the Maker enjoys watching my unending experience. There I am neither a sinner nor a saint, and my soul has no home.

Limbo looks like nothing, it feels like nothing, it thinks like nothing. Where I was once a floating soul, rushing and flitting to my destination, I am now an empty vessel. I have no definition, no reason for existence.

I have been rejected by the Dream Land and Nightmare alike. I feel the thudding pressure; I smell the stench of illness and death in my own heart. It is in that one instant that I know that everything I am, everything I have strived for, achieved, hoped or dreamed, is nothing. The in-between is where I am nothing. I dread this one moment with all that I am.

This is where I hear his voice. It echoes into me through the emptiness and spears my soul heart with its truth. Anger and sorrow reverberate inside my soul. I am not a child. I am no longer a little girl, cowering in the folds of her mother’s skirts. I am an adult. Limbo brings it back; that cowering child and my mothers beautiful face; frozen in pain. My memories rush to me like a small child to chocolate ice cream. I am devoured.

This is why I fear sleep.

With a rush, I fall. I tip backwards. I am hurtling through the nothing; down, down, down. I endure one millisecond of gut-wrenching fear before I am jerked back into consciousness.

I stare at my ceiling, lying awake as the flashing red numbers of my clock blink three o’clock.

I really liked it. A lot of the wording is very ...well... wordy In a good way; not so much that you didn't get your point across, but enough to sound sophisticated.

My critiques are really nit-picky, but I hope they help!

A recurring interval of noise spurns the silence as it trickles through my blinds and three o’clock blinks red on my clock radio. I can hear the thrum of the refrigerator and the scurry of scratchy feet on my balcony floor.

First sentence: It was unclear; try wording it, "A noise spurns the silence at recurring intervals as it trickles through my blinds, and three o'clock... etc." . I'm not sure I have the meaning right, but if I do, then my way should be better.
Second sentence: "Scratchy feet"? You can do better than that... pick a more informative word than scratchy, or try saying something like "scratchy rodents' feet..." (since I assume they were the feet of squirrels, chipmunks, etc.)

While I lie, quiet and at peace, my eyelids fall and I begin to drop off. Fighting against the panic, the familiar growing dread, I feel my traitorous lids shutter closed. Images gather quickly across their insides as if converging upon a well-rehearsed play. For the hundredth time in an hour, I force my eyes to snap open, seeking frantically about the room.

First sentence: Note punctuation changes.
Second sentence: Aren't you just repeating what you said in the first sentence? Try forming them both into one sentence.
Third sentence: Love the metaphor!!

I have no need to sleep with one eye open, no; my need is for both to be wide and alert.

Either I'm not comprehending correctly (very possible) or the meaning if this sentence is unclear; are you reassuring yourself here, or the opposite? Could just be me, but it would appear as though you were switching half-way through...

Even while conscious the fear of that sleep slips in unnoticed.

Make that, "Even while I am conscious, the fear of sleep slips into me." ...Or I think so anyway. I'm not sure what you were trying to say, so I had to guess

No, it is never that simple, that easy; it is much more.

Because (1) the rest of this piece isn't written in a conversational way (2) it will flow better, I say you should take out either the "that easy" or the "that simple"

In that one horrific moment anything can happen; life, death, insanity, there is no discrimination.

Comma after "moment"

There is no description for this. And there is no other name for it, no other description that could explain this tear between wakefulness and sleep.

Delete the first sentence. (and, obviously, delete the "and" off the second one.)

It is the very pinnacle of the horror-tunnel that I fear most. That one last second before my soul flutters into Nightmare or Dream Land is the moment I fear most.

Ending both sentences with "I fear most" is odd. Don't do it one of them.

Limbo looks like nothing, it feels like nothing, it thinks like nothing.

But didn't you say before that it was painful and terrorizing (in the literal sense of the word: causing terror) ?

Okay, The End! hehe. That wasn't so bad, wasn't it?
One other thing to think about: does Dream Land have a "the" before it? sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.

Over all: lovely. I spotted no spelling or grammar mistakes, and very few punctuation mistakes. Just read it out loud to yourself and that will help you get it smoother (it really does help!)

Anyway, good job and good luck! I hope this crit was helpful!!
Keep it up!
~Azila

I wrote this the other night while waiting for sleep... how weird is that? o.O

Not so weird. I always write late at night. It's the only way.

I lie awake in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. [s]The night is as quiet as it is dark.[/s] A recurring interval of noise spurns the silence as it trickles through my blinds and three o’clock blinks red on my clock radio. I can hear the thrum of the refrigerator and the scurry of scratchy feet on my balcony floor.

Not a very good hook, but decently written. Scratch the cliche description.

While I lie quiet and at peace my eyelids fall, and I begin to drop off. Fighting against the panic, the familiar growing dread, I feel my traitorous lids shutter closed. Images gather quickly across their insides as if converging upon a well-rehearsed play. For the hundredth time in an hour I force my eyes to snap open, seeking frantically about the room.
All is well.

Being quiet and at peace is never good. People are only interested in your character if they aren't getting what they want. The moment they do, you lose your readership. You see? We'll pull for them and pull for them but there has to be ever-present conflict to hold our interest. Slightly masochistic, hey? And that is an indirect quote from a pro at a writers conference. That being said, you contradict yourself in the next line, saying she's panicking. "All is well" is not a very good line.

As my paranoia is reassured I realise the absurdity of this particular fear. I have no enemies, least of all ones who would enter my room in the dead of night. I have no need to sleep with one eye open, no; my need is for both to be wide and alert. Slowly I lay back, shifting my weight amongst my multitude of pillows, a plenthora of perfect places for rest, and each one pleading for my back to call them home.

Reassured paranoia? Not sure if that makes sense. And the last thing you need to do is explain to us why she is paranoid, or why she shouldn't be. People with paranoia will get it. People without paranoia will get it. You're fine. Axe some of the descriptions. You don't need them.

Even now, as I lay procrastinating, I dread the moment wherein the lids of my eyes will finally fail and allow me to fall into restless sleep. The mere thought of that slow, agonising, oblivion encroaching upon my senses sends my heart into overdrive. My terror grips me, forcing tired limbs to flail wildly and I try to thrust my body from its suffocation. Even while conscious the fear of that sleep slips in unnoticed.

I don't like the part in bold. I especially like the part in italics. The part in between I don't much care for.

It is not the act of sleep that I fear. No, it is never that simple, that easy; it is much more. It is in that one moment, that one instant in time that thickens my heartbeat and sends my senses reeling. In that one horrific moment anything can happen; life, death, insanity, there is no discrimination. I feel as if I could, and do experience each one tenfold. There is no escape.

Okay, in the first bold you begin to tell us what's going on, why this irrational fear of sleep. Nice work.

If I could name this thing, this terrifying element of nature, I would call it Limbo. There are stories, legends, myths all about Limbo, yet each one tells of a different feeling, a different scenario. There is no description for this. And there is no other name for it, no other description that could explain this tear between wakefulness and sleep.

Kay, good. You're narrowing down the problem here. We're aware that this isn't just paranoia, insomnia, but something deeper. Something to elaborate on. Nice

In this one moment of Limbo it is my soul that suffers, of this I am sure. I have died a thousand times and each time my soul tears itself from my body and careens into the Dream Land. I have tried, a thousand times, to halt this speeding urgency but to no avail, my soul is destined to soar. As I feel my spirit rush towards the Dream Land I feel the indecisiveness of its movement, the split in the where of my soul’s destination. It is no longer seeking its way into dreams, no; it is now tumbling into the horror that is Nightmare.

We're starting to get a point of view of your character, which is good, but we still don't know a lot of things. Male of female? Background? Name? Room? What? There are a lot of other descriptions your readers is interested in besides just the fact that your character can't sleep. We care infinately more about the person than the eyelids or the dreams. We want to know more. Until we have more, we won't be interested. Not really.

Nightmare, a child’s fear brought to life. This world that my soul’s eyes gaze into is not the earthly colours of life, neither is it the heavenly swirls of Dream Land. Nightmare is its own creation, an entire world for the fears and terrors of each and every dreaming being in existence since the beginning of time. To soul step into this world is to experience over and over the futility of life.

I really like the first line. And your descriptions, however philisophical, are lovely.

Yet it is not this recurring futility that I fear most. In this one instant, in the split between Dream Land and Nightmare, lies but a millisecond of terror multiplied a hundred times. It is the very pinnacle of the horror-tunnel that I fear most. That one last second before my soul flutters into Nightmare or Dream Land is the moment I fear most. For this is the moment my soul is seem to split, this is Limbo.

A lot of repitition here. You could cut this entire paragraph.

In this one instant, in the second before sleep truly hits, I am neither awake nor asleep. I am neither a sinner nor a saint, and my soul has no home. I am thrust into Limbo with great gusto, as if the Maker enjoys watching my unending experience.

Still some repitition. Cut what you've already said, give your reader only what he/she needs.

Limbo looks like nothing, it feels like nothing, it thinks like nothing. Where I was once a floating soul, rushing and flitting to my destination, I am now an empty vessel. I have no definition, no reason for existence.

I really like the parts in bold. And I'm beginning to understand why your character is so terrified of sleep. But I still want to know your character. There isn't enough here. You aren't satisfying.

I have been rejected by the Dream Land and Nightmare alike. I feel the thudding pressure; I smell the stench of illness and death in my own heart. It is in that one instant that I know that everything I am, everything I have strived for, achieved, hoped or dreamed, is nothing. The in-between is where I am nothing. I dread this one moment with all that I am.



This is why I fear sleep.

Kay...*sighs* I really really really need more. It's beautifully written, I'm sure you've spent a long time perfecting your craft. Maybe you care about writing more than people on this site (I hope so, because I'm spending an awful long time on this critique). Which is why I think you can grow from this piece---you can do better, and I'm convinced of it.

With a rush, I fall. I tip backwards. I am hurtling through the nothing; down, down, down. I am [s]allowed[/s] one millisecond of gut-wrenching fear before I am jerked back into consciousness.

Allowed isn't the word you're looking for

I stare at my ceiling, lying awake as the flashing red numbers of my clock radio blink. Three o’clock.

Nice ending. Kay.

THINGS THAT YOU DID RIGHT

1. You wrote in tasteful prose. There is nothing like some good, philisophical, tasteful prose to cleanse the mind and body like cool water. If you ever read some of Jack (Firestarter's) poems, they are a lot like Bright Eyes songs--cleansing and gentle. You feel cleaner for having read them, refreshed. I can't say that you quite achieved this. Read some of Jack's poems, check out his portfolio, you'll see why I say this.

2.You began with, and developed, one specific idea. You had a purpose. You would be appalled by the amount of stories on here that have no purpose, no reason for existing. I become outrageously angry when I read these. I just start panicking and thinking, MOTHER OF GOD, WHY?! But you didn't make me do that! Thank you!! I don't need that kind of stress! I liked how you started with an idea, built intensity, and dwindled down, like a good rock ballad. Nice work.


THINGS THAT COULD USE A SECOND LOOK

1. Repitition of themes abounds. You repeat yourself in several paragraphs. Since your paragraphs are wordy, you can't really afford to do this. Just take a second look, it's easily cleared up.

2. You fail to hold the reader's attention due to lack of character development. I don't know about you, but it's important to me to know into who's mind I delve. I want to know the color of hair, texture of skin, glisten of teeth, the color of the walls, the inner workings, the hopes, the fears, the pain. I want to know what's going on. Honestly, you don't have to tell me, "his teeth glistened," but if you give me a few little nudges, just some things to ebb my emotion, imagination, along, I will get things like that on my own. (okay, maybe not that specifically, but you get my drift.

IN CONCLUSION

You did a basically good job. It was interesting. It kept me reading. It did not make me gag. (That isn't always easy on YWS, you will find). I hope that you're serious about writing. I want you to be because my goodness, that was quite a critique. I once wrote a 2 hour critique for a girl, with references, examples, quotes, and a list of books to read. I named her my protege.

She was hopeless and didn't listen to a word I said. Horrific writer, and convinced of her own genius.

I can tell you aren't convinced of your genius.

THANK YOU!

You are a good writer though, you are promising. Post some more so I can get a better feel of your writing. YWS is a good place to develop your mad skillz dood. (oh dear....)

Cheers and Merry Unbirthdays. ^_^

XD

how bout feigning sleep for a title?

I loved your story. It caught my eye, because it reminds me of that horrible feeling after I watch a scary movie or something and I can't get to sleep. I don't really have any comments right now, what I saw was really good. I disagree tho with the person who said your title sucks. I think it's a really good title, but hey, there's my opinion for you. I hope to see more of this (if you write more that is).

Thank you all for your commentation and critiques. Helpus Majorus. hehe.

I have edited (meaning blah re work hehe) and I hope i've made an in-roads into the general gist of the crits. I have not changed the title (it would confuse me) as yet, but I am still thinking about it.


Once again, Thank you all!


Legends *shakes head* everyone just has to be a legend ne.


*hearts* Le Penguin.

Wow, this was really good. I like that line towards the end, "I am devoured." It's a good descriptive word, but it also shows the little kid eating his or her ice cream. Is there any more to this? I can tell you that I can't totaly destroy your work because I'm not... I don't have mad skillz with critiquing like your other fans seem to. =] It's been a while since I've really payed attention to something on YWS all the way through, though. I can definitely tell you that. So in all, I think it was a good way to draw in a reader.

I know I didn't help fix it up or anything, but I know it always feels good to hear that you did a good job. Well here I am, telling you that you did a good job!

~Roya

This story is really well written. It's something a lot of people can relate to! But,your character has no, well... character.

Muchas Gracias on the commentation. =D

It is most welcomnessed.

My lack of character for my character is quite getting to me, and I am unsure as how to fix this without changing my story completely... I am thinking on this seriously.. maybe ill turn it into a prologue and continue from there... maybe not lol.


Once again I thankye muchly.


*hearts* Le Penguin.

I like the description, like, "The eerie glow is comforting..." The very contradiciton helps out. And, "My tratorous lids slide closed."

*bows* How I thank ye =D



*hearts* Le Penguin.

I really liked your story, or what of it is here anyway. It is good that it is full of new description every line, but you have to make sure you don't turn it into a dictionary read-a-long. I can most definitely relate to the "character" of your story, and you seemed to very well describe the essence of what is nearly impossible to describe.
The only thing I can say I really didn't like was the repeat of 3:00. Maybe change it to 3:30 or something.
Well, keep in touch!

Thankyou muchly for the commentation =D it it muchas appreciated.


*hearts* Le Penguin.

That...was REALLY good. Like...amazing. You are a super amazing writer. Keep it up! Dang, I couldn't stop reading. That is a good sign, its normally hard to get me interested right away unless its really really exciting.