Sleep is For The Weak

Fortunately, the hex had worked. I am certain of this. Unfortunately, it took me suffering a nasty fall from a racehorse for the magic to work itself. Many bones were broken, including a couple of vertebrae, and a few internal organs were ruptured. It was painful. I’m lucky the hex actually worked. I invented it myself, and I was my own guinea pig. I didn’t expect it to happen this early, but alas. It works, and I’ll probably start making more of these.

Unfortunately, the hex did not fix preexisting damage, meaning I am riddled with scars and other superficial deformations of my dermis. Luckily, my face is intact. Moreover, I think my insomnia has gotten worse recently. If before the fall I could manage four or five hours of sleep a night, now I get about an hour or two of sleep per night. This is most definitely taking a toll on my body and my mind.

I am becoming increasingly more irritable. I seem to lash out at the most minute of things disproportionally. My mind won’t stop racing, further exhausting my body, but my condition will not allow me proper rest. The whirlwind of thoughts seems to grow stronger as I lay down. A constant pulsating headache plagues the back of my skull. The pain became so awful at a few points that I had lost consciousness and ended up bruising myself pretty badly.

The constant exhaustion has driven me to see things that aren’t there, mainly ghastly dogs made up of a black fire running around before vanishing into the nothingness. Another common vision is that of a tall, pallid humanoid with a massive gaping maw that stares at me from the distance. The thing seems to be naked, lacking in gender but covered in iris less eyes all over its lanky body. The figure tends to look like a gluttonous parody of the giant Argos Panoptes. At first said visions scared me to no end, especially those judging, condemning eyes of that pale abomination. These eyes, they used to dig deep under my skin with their sharp stare. With times I’ve gotten used to them. After I came to realize that these are just products of a tired psyche.

The worst part of my condition is the bodily exhaustion and constant inflammation of various organs. I feel like my limbs are heavy and stiff. I used to be athletic, but now I’m a lumbering mess. Even the slightest movement causes a great deal of sharp and burning pain. The skin around my scars seems to twist on itself endlessly. The sub-dermal neurons assaulting my brain with a barrage of pain signals. Each and every scar hurts like it has been reopened and prodded, especially on windy days. God, I hate the wind.

My miserable state is reflected in my appearance, sadly. I look pale, thin – almost skeletal. Whenever I look in the mirror, I am reminded of a man plagued by consumption. My bones protrude from under the skin. My face painfully stretched over my skull, purple lips and bleeding gums, eyes sunken and devoid of light… I think I might be developing cataracts, even though my vision is not affected yet. I look so bad that even my pet crow, Djehuty, seems to look at me with concern. I can see it in his brown eyes.

One of my colleagues had suggested I try drinking the red humor to get myself into a better shape. I’ve given that a shot. I’m saddened to say that blood doesn’t really restore youth, it merely leaves a sour taste in one’s mouth.

The solution to my problems seems to lie within the realm of dreams. I need to get properly rested. Who knew that even reanimated corpses needed to sleep to stay intact?