text: I awake, alone in a dark room. Confined to an old bed by the machines that feed me. Soaking in my own dampness. Cold sweat has settled along my brow. A heavy chill embraces my almost naked body. The darkness is cut only by a sliver of light pouring through a narrow window on a heavy door. The window is my only connection to the outside world. The outside world I crave to know again. Yet what lurks outside is what I fear the most. Voices crawl through the door. A garbled confusion of words. Other voices say nothing. They only move up and down the hall in a state of pain and confusion. I stare at the ceiling. It has seen many eyes before me. The same empty stare. Piercing and relentless robotic tones echo in my black and murky room. Voices in the hall draw nearer. Creaks of carts that carry nothing but tools of pain and the abject horror of its previous victims grow louder. They’re coming for me. The voices and squealing shrieks come closer. They start to converge into a deafening cacophony. The screams of a banshee. My heart pounds into my head. The cold sweat protrudes faster. Shrill sound invades my ears. My brain floods with fear. The hypnotic tones of the machines that feed me become a melodic harbinger, summoning terror one step closer. The noise in the hall suddenly stops. They’re at my door! The small sliver of light transforms into shadows of horror. My mind aches as it strains against the sound of the doorknob. Why do they have to do this? The groans of the metal doorknob grind into my brain as it begins to turn. There’s no escape. The sudden flood of light is imminent. The light I long for, yet hate to see. Not now. Not for this. Blaring brightness blinds my eyes. I beg for the darkness back. They come closer to my bed. My mind goes numb. Pain brings it back. The ravenous lurking bloodsuckers only want one thing. And they never give up until they get it. The anguish of the needle drives into my skin. It digs around inside me with an unquenchable thirst. More needles slip agonizingly beneath my flesh. They’re relentless. It won’t be over until they harvest what they came for. I beg for it to be quick. I pray for it to end. My knuckles and teeth clench harder with every syringe that searches for my veins. My eyes squeeze tighter, damming welling tears of affliction. Suffering shoots through me. Again and again. They stop to examine the vial. Please let it be enough. Please, God... They turn to leave. Their cart now heavier with my blood and agony. But it’s finally over. For now. For me. Terror returns to roam the halls in search of the next victim. I’m alone again. Blanketed in darkness. Cold. Tired. Once again closed off from the outside world. But now finding solace in the blackness. Suspended somewhere between the light of yesterday and the lingering dawn of tomorrow, I wonder what time it is. It doesn’t matter. They’ll be back. Time has no meaning out there. Only in here as each vague hour passes. My gaze returns to the ceiling. It stares back at me. The sweat slows and cools my brow. My breathing calms. My heartbeat slows. The pounding has stopped. The pain has stopped. The metronomic tones of the machines are now the only sounds I hear. They lull me back to sleep in a web of rhythmic vibrations, steadily counting down to the return of the ravenous lurking bloodsuckers. The return...of the overnight phlebotomists.