Written for Sunday Photo Fiction.


It’s a door from a nightmare. The constant nightmare that has eradicated my sleep. Forced me to become a zombie in waking hours. Even the fire extinguisher is in place.

I know this dream. I grab the fire extinguisher. The man in the black balaclava opens the door. I hesitate the merest of moments, which is just enough time for him to adjust, push his will against the raised fire extinguisher, and thrust me into oblivion.

I hear the rattling of the door handle. I will not do as I’ve always done.

Instead I run to the kitchen and grab a butcher knife. I hold it upward, ready.

It’s on a downward arc.

“Hello, honey, I’m home.”


end 2/17/2018

Sascha Darlington



2 thoughts on “Insomnia

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