Post-Trauma Note (Week 7): Awakenings at 4

I am awakened again. Suddenly. Abruptly. Out of the blue when I had been soundly sleeping. Or that’s what I thought. Now the body is on his own track. Reacting. Responding. Running on a clock that stopped at 4. Fall. Fall asleep some more. Please. Please. This is exhausting my system. Pissdom. Sheeshdom. Where the hell is the azan? When are the roosters crowing? Holy Mary mother of God. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. 5 men. Or more. Lingering in the hall. Keeping watch. Feeling watched. Never fully resting. Nesting. Testing. I have no more strength for snoring. Faking. Fucking. Dead or alive. It’s only 4 that they know. It’s until 4 that they go. Light. Night. Still fighting to keep awake. Maybe that’s my sign that I’m still alive. Struggling to keep still. Eyes closed but never asleep. Snoring but never sleeping. Breathing but never living. Leafing but never leaving. Eventuality. Finality. OMG I’m just the minority. Never meant to be a target. Their nugget. Of survival and sustenance. Of vitriolic violence. It’s 4.45am and I think it’s time to go. No. Slow. 24 hours later and it’s really time to go. More than 24 days after I’m still stuck in the hole. The black hole. The night whole.

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