Sleep Paralysis.

I wafted around with my sketch book, continuing my sketch of the smoke incident in 9/11. Feeling rather sheepishly bored, and sleep deprived, I exited the room for my brother's room (the room in which I sleep in now, to reduce distractions). Closing the door behind me slightly, I slipped myself on the bed to listen to music in my iPod for awhile. Out of battery. Flinching slightly in the bitter disappointment, I tilted my head on the pillow, and decided on a few seconds of shut eye before I get to work again. And that's where it happened.

I could feel the presence of more than another in the room the instant my eye lid come to close. Through the heavy darkness in which befalls after, I could still 'see' the swoosh of the beings across the room and around the bed - surrounding, disappearing and back. Curious and partly disheveled, I open my eyes and delighted to find that it was as they were. That there were no 'beings', that it might have been fast-flowing imagination I had - which always happens. I welcomed the light and relaxed my shoulders.

But there it was, semi-transparent and in the broad daylight, the afternoon sun drowns its figures quite briefly as what looked like a 'white-shadow' at the corner of my eye. It was standing in the column between the bed and the dressing table, which was on my right. I turned to the face and confirm, but retrieved a punch full on the face. I fell violently on the left-hand side and expected pain to greet me after. Instead, I found myself on the bed again, as still as stone. Skeptical about the environment, I hesitated and looked around for signs. I'm safe. Or so I thought.

I tried pulling myself off the bed but as soon as I attempted on leaving my position, I felt a tonne of weight pulling me back. That I am still lying like a statue on my back. I tried moving my arms, but they would not budge. I began kicking wildly, but it made no change, except for the ghastly shifts of what my legs suppose to react from the actual still mount legs. It's useless, I could not even raise an eyebrow if I could. I am left without control of my motionless body.

Then it struck me, about the rumours of being 'sat'. That's it, I've never experienced it before, but I heard a lot of stories similar from many people whom I have known. They claim to believe that the an 'evil spirit' is responsible. I thought of it, and reflecting back to the first few seconds in which it all happened, the conclusion was possible. And so I prayed and prayed and prayed.

Another try then, I thought. So I gave another push. I could feel my semi-invisible-self lifting from the body. Resisting the heavy force, I dragged myself towards the door with great effort. The furhter I was from my body, the greater the force. At one point I could not hold in any longer, and was pulled back to my fixed position. I started to pray again.

The world went blank, and I woke up. With great relief I smiled. Brushing off the memory, I jumped off the bed. Bloody hell, I'm still as heavy as I was, it wasn't a dream - again. I could not leave this bloody position. With fear overpowering, I looked for a solution. Should I wait and find out? Should I try to reach for the door again? Then, I was blessed with my parents footsteps that echoed through the corridor. I began to scream for help, but what got out was a constriction, merely a croak. I shout even louder and a small yelp escaped. With a brink of hope, I began to reach for the door again, pulling tighter, resisting more than ever. My cat was struggling for in at the otherside of the same door, and it motivated me further -

I finally reached for the door, holding the knob for dear life. My cat was let into the room, and I joyced. I could reach my parents, I could not lose now, light is at the end of the tunnel - and it's coming close! The darkness hovered my vision slowly. I became weaker, still holding on to the door knob. It became darker, and through the faintest of light, I witnessed my cat running from the room - then, nothing.

I awoke from the same fixed statue that my body was. I'm waking from dream to dream to another, I concluded, and the feeling of nausea rose. Half beaten and defeated, I closed my eyes and prayed, trying my best to ignore the voice at the back of my brain chanting the words that the next will be the same. I shut my eyes even harder, partly for desperation, partly to resist the pain - keeping myself into the darkness instead of repelling from it.

I opened my eyes for the 5th time now, and saw my index finger flinch. Drowning myself with doubt and disbelief, I tapped my fingers on my stomach. It worked. I wiggled my legs and they obeyed. Kicking myself off the bed, I could feel the body heat rise to the neck, my blood pulsing, and no magnetic pull from anywhere. I celebrated the winning of the battle by running frantically towards another conscious human being.

artefacts.

Artefacts Exhibition done and dusted

I entered, cowered behind the banner as I saw a crowd of audience before me. They didn't look too many, but the air of excitement converted into chills as I imagined the scenario. Then we waited for the opening ceremony. Speeches were given. Ribbons were cut. The audience flooded in. We assigned our posts.

The first sprang and I explained a great deal on all three of my artwork. The second draws forward, and I compressed the previous explanation in a short time. More audience coming now, and I became more spontaneous, learning to answer only when asked and when they have the patience.

Three portraits hung on the wall - and the one that catches people's attention was the I, Me, Mine. The one I did with the zombies seems to stand out so much that the other two of my work was ignored by most people. Everyone's amazing but I didn't have much time to roam around to look. I will tomorrow.

In other words, I wouldn't have dreamed of displaying an artwork in an actual official ceremony/exhibition. Artists and the talent itself are so heavily-taken-for-granted. Honestly, the past two years I had discovered that Art is more than pretty drawings. They are personal, meaningful, expressive - like authors with books only that they use words.

I'm so sleepy right now.

An Overhang

Dad was holding his patience while mum blamed all the little things for my disorganisation. This morning, I spent half an hour in the bathroom, going through as quickly regretting the fact that I did not wake up to the siren of my alarm. I looked away in heavy guilt, thinking that it would be over soon – that it would not get any worse. I forced a banana down my throat and splashed open the orange juice in effort to rush, which blistered the open wound on my thumb. I gulped the little portion of juice and grabbed the tissue along my way to the car.

Finally settling in the back seat, I faced a mouthful of argument from my mum. I did not dare to speak out, to say anything that would harm me further. The slightly edged voice of my father's broke the conversation. I jumped slightly, not realising that he had kept in a dangerous silence all the time. He asked me, what time precisely would I like to come home. With a moment of hesitation, I thought that it would be wise to leave them at their peace. So that I would not stress them further, because of my careless behaviour. So I mustered all the confidence and struggled with a croak, "2pm, with the Driver."

That did it.

There was an ear-splitting shout in the break of his patience, bangs on the dashboard like gun shots for man slaughter. I shuddered in fear, as he screamed a gurgle of words like "selfish", "inconsiderate" and "arrogant", commenting that I was provoking his anger, that I would rather go home with an 'Indian' driver at 4pm. And just like that, I could feel my chest tightened, tears blurred my vision, as I choked for air in effort to gain control. I covered my face with the blood-stained tissue in shame and cried silently. I looked outside the window pane, desperate for light, but only to see the dark dreary sky falling.

I got both my parents worked up in 10 minutes without meaning to. All I wanted is to make the situation happier, but I'm such a careless f*cker that I even f*cking failed at that. As soon as I reached school, I shriveled for a quiet forgiveness in asking for their hand and quickly slipped away across the road and into the depths of the building. For a split-second, I wished a car met me.

I hid my sore face in the dark curtains of my hair away from the faces that scanned me as I passed. I had cleared slightly when I reached to the library and greeted my friends, a reasoning lie ready at the top of my head. Their kind voice of concern hit me like a hurricane and I could feel the tears collecting again. Change the subject, sympathy is not deserved for the culprit.

Art Exhibition will be held tonight, on the the day of the dreadful morning. I don't know how I will cope with it, them being there. I'm a sinner. I could only pray it would be alright. Confidence, dissolved and forward was an air desperate for a environment to take my mind completely off of it.