July 3rd, 2002 - 1:31 p.m.

Sleep is indeed the enemy.

Last night, while sleeping, walking down a street, I was shot in the abdomen. The smell of gunpowder. The brutal sound of ignition, explosion against metal. A baby cried. I reached into the wound. Pulled out a child feet first. Covered in birthing fluids and strands of blood. Held it in my hands, at arms length for inspection. It cried. Seemed to fall asleep. But no, it was dead. I put it into my bag; umbilical cord trailing from gaping hole to purse.

The night before, while sleeping, walking through M.�s basement, I encountered evil. But it was not M.�s basement. It was long corridored, with an abundance of plain white doors. Instructed to enter one of the doors. �There is something there. Not sure what. Something,� said a calm voice. Opened the door. Unable to move. The room filled with light; empty, but something there. Wanted to scream. It took years to gather the strength. Screamed. Sat up, startled and unable to breathe.

N.

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