>This behavior doesn't fit you. The voice making this this verbal observation did not make the soft sounds of air escaping a larynx and wipe-pipe, shaped by vocal chords. It sounded like the cackling of electricity jumping air-gaps, full of harsh and sharp gaps, jumping from one note to another, but close enough to be recognized at a voice. The mid-afternoon sun was setting, peeking between cold clouds, the light itself peeking between the Venetian blinds he had almost shut, casting a single ray into his eyes. He covered his head with his blanket, and rolled over so his eyes wouldn't have to look out that window. Sleep might come soon. >Sleep again? You know where that will bring you. The voice was sharp and high, and he could smell it in the room when it spoke. The musty stench of his sweaty sheets would disappear, the the inorganic smell of fresh ozone, and lightening, would fill the room. >Go back to sleep. You'll Dream without Rest, and when you wake, I'll be here, and you will Dream while you wake, and have no Rest. He didn't know how to respond to the voice. He wasn't convinced whether it wanted him to stay awake, or if it wanted him to go back to sleep. It just seemed intent on telling him he was not going to find peace. When he did find sleep, the voice wasn't there, but other things were. Memories were there, but they mixed up in such a way that they didn't actually seem like memories at all. More like a different, more abstract, but accurate, reflection of the world. Like a Dark Mirror turned towards his perception. >Sleep now, and know during your sleep, I'll be here for when you wake up. Rest. He just needed some fucking Rest.