Fiction. Based on a True Experience with Sleep Paralysis.
Inspired by Love Story Creative Lynn Duncan.
by Nikki Wicz
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.
The first time
Took me, he was
In the closet.
Bending his neck
To see under the door frame
At the blanket cocoon
Trapping me. Although,
He doesn’t move his arms
I know they have the will to pull
the blanket cocoon tighter around my
sleeping lungs, stopping my heart short
In its tracks, like a train a few thousand years
Out of its time. I think he’s come to trade places
with me; to wake up again in a bed instead of the
Grey coffin, eroded by his grey eyes, I can almost see
The places where his nails have scratched. If I could just
Lift my arm, I could feel the splinters that didn’t catch his
Skin: torn and left in tendrils like worms from the cracked
Carapace of dead wood.
But I am alive
When my eyes open
As I always am.
And he is not there,
Long arms and all
Gone. And then I know
That he never could have hurt me.