I close my eyes and images appear in my mind. They’re ones I haven’t conjured up. They’re immediate and ugly and ferocious — a dismembered arm, a spider crawling outwards from an eye with its silky, black legs, and a red hourglass on its belly. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I wish I was a hamster. Hamsters are nocturnal, after all, and this sleeplessness at night would then be acceptable. I take a deep breath. (The kind that cracks your spine in a few places at once, but doesn’t calm you
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