The wind screeches through the vents as the hail throws itself unrelentingly on my windows and unforgivingly on the skylights above. This big house is empty and the forceful cold roar of the storm echoes apocalyptically through the corridors. Will this noise ever cease? Will the night ever end?
I turn restlessly in bed, with a sick feeling in my stomach, my muscles tensed and strung out. The torment of this unquenchable need within me. I cry in anguish as I realise there is no way out. I start begging for an answer; pleading to deaf ears for it to stop. Useless hope; making deals with unreal characters. No more peace. Each dream wakes me ready to run; no more rest.
The angry voices within recollect and reprimand. Jittering nerves. Their incessant altercations keep me on edge. Louder and louder until the inner turmoil matches the unstable pitch of the wind. I expect the sky to fall; the walls to crumble, the windows to crash inwards.
Unable to lie still, I open my door and stand with a foot on either side clinging desperately to the door frame. Exhausted but still fighting the tireless need; drawing up on my overwhelmed rationality, because that is the only thing that can ever save me, I fight for sanity; fight not to slip further into the dark abyss, not to fear the storm; fight to resist the weakness, and endure.
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