He started awake, breathing heavily, his movement restricted in the near complete darkness. He took a moment to get his bearings. He had been asleep. He was sure of it, wasn’t he? Yes, that was right; he had gone to sleep and had just now woken up. When he opened the lid of this coffin, it would be daylight. Time would have past, he was sure. Not having dreams, he could live with – he had rarely had them back on Earth, and when he had, he had barely remembered them like most people. Here though? Whatever fuckery was keeping him from dreaming fucked with his perception. His body slept, his brain obviously did its thing to get the rest it needed, but his mind? He closed his eyes, and when next he opened them, it was as if nothing had transpired, as if he merely blinked. But in that blink, entire hours passed by, he experienced day to day life as one unending, conscious stream, and it was really beginning to fuck him off. It fucked with his circadian rhythm too, making it difficult to make sense of night and day and when was the proper time to sleep. Some mornings he found himself waking up and just kicking things out of sheer frustration. When he got any sleep that was – it came harder and harder the longer he went without his little pick-me-up. His hunger wasn’t helping in that regard, and he swore he was sleeping less and less because of it.