SOBER
Written by Nickolaus A. Pacione
Word Count: (1881 Words)

From them in the looking at the water, it would be from the dream as it would gather from them – as it would be of this which I make the collected process of writing out the dream. The time where they draw -- as when the illness came about. That from them as the medicine began to take its influence, the body had grown numb to the touch and the world around them. Where it would become from the light of the moon and the shadow that it cast upon the street; as from them which would follow into the stages where the body becomes asleep. In them which the sleep becomes, the dreams that would stir within the rest of the body would follow.
That it would be going under in the eyes of the ones falling asleep. In the pages as they would be drawn to them -- from a narrative, in pages as they would find their way into the pages of a journal. As it would become from these pages as I write them, in the details which drawn from the vague fragments.
It would be of them which pen into the stages that I cannot fully draw from the fragments. Beneath them would be of the vast fragments, that it would be from them as the waters of a December sky looking on as the dream would lasts months into weeks, and weeks into the vast years. From them; that it would be gathered from the dream as the pages when they become written. Where it would become from my hand as they are written years later, and from the years that passed that they sit at the glow of a word processor. In the eyes of the person who is writing this, another would see it as a form of madness.
As come from the dreams stirring inside the mind and the health from the person sleeping is nonexistent, becoming from them telling in the eyes of the one who writes this – and the horrors to become which are from the years that long past the time. Of what becomes in description, that among the cycles where they draw – in time which comes after the durations of time. As in form of a narrative that one sees this as it would be described by the glow of a waning moon. In them which told from the eyes of the changing of tenses which become them in the eyes of the dream -- where every tense in the dream -- the past and future both become the present.
Known as it would be from them as they descend, from places as when the body proceeds to sleep and the dreams were invoked by the use of cold medicine that the horrors within the dreams are described. From the place as I write of them in the present day, of them which tell from the shadow within a described being. In the places that take one into the description of the screaming, crying, and the gnashing of teeth.
That of them which become the echo of the beginning, that in them which take one to the place of the dream -- the setting of the town, Wintrop Harbor, Illinois. That in the places where I would fall asleep, the dreams would follow in the coherrent patterns that would be among the pages. In them tellling that would gather of the places when the moon had left its strongest light -- that in the dreams it would open the gateways to Hades, and the Shades of Hades would look on.
Where it drawn from the sleep that I would take into the years that passed from the time that would become the echo for the dream. The name is Nickolaus Albert, and what it would be written from here was from the passages that were written in my mind years ago -- and from them would become the beginning of them as the dream played itself out. While in the passages of sleep that I saw the being as a raven. To the whereabouts that it would become from them in the eyes of those staring on from darkness as where they begin; yet it would become of them as the memory paints itself into one form or another. As to them would bring the echo of the moon, that the light of the moon was the thing that was the only lighting the room when I awakened. As them which drawn from the light of the moon where the dream would take into the details that would be the pit of Hades. In them which it would draw -- as blood would be drawn from the veins.
Drawn from them in the pages which become the echo of the dream, that it would be from them as what draws from the sleeping body. In the matter of the mind where it would be among the battles of the spirit – that becomes the echo of faith and madness within an illness which can never be seen. Though it would draw from the patterns of a tormented mind, and the dreams that are there within that mind are fragmented. Of them which become of the cycles that the physical body sleeps, the things that are seen of the mind descend into the details that when the years of what was told – of the years that had been from the thoughts that had once were taught.
Nor the things that are told which can even begin to describe the obscure fragments, in them the fragmented thoughts as they are a form of the perverse. That it would dwell within the nightmares as they’d be described as such, nor it would become from the places when darkness would take its bride. In fragments where they are drawn out from pages which are the written, in journal passages as they would become of them -- that in those years that had passed from the time when the dream was actually described. To the where -- as when it would become, as what would become of the places that are described, of when they were of the unknown. Of them which bercome in time as the dream had found its way to a written page, that it would be from them which would become from the eyes staring at an empty sky. In them which they are -- of them in pages that seem to have eyes staring back as they had lives of their own. Where they would be seen of them in the abyss that one would see themselves fall into, falling without end. Where it would be among the pages as they were written -- that the hell described in the dream would be that that was described as the Biblical description of hell.
As it would have the effect on the body like it was drained by a vampire or a being of that similar nature – though it would be from the narration that I put to the pages it would be as another person that stares at me like I was a museum exhibit. It would be taken from them as where they are written, in the time that passed three years. In the places where they become affected in the eyes of the ones who drawn to the sick, as where they became from the sleep as the sickness within is written before them.
That it would be among the surface within shadows that where the dream would have a way of writing itself out, and from them as in the details that would create from a horror that cannot be described. From them which it would be written and in a narration which dwells in the surface, that surface which becomes broken when the dream appears. From in the pages which are described from faceless crowds which become the echo of the stages of sleep. That it would become in the surfaced being, that in their words as which becomes of the spoken.
That it would become of them from the pages they bleed as they had hands and eyes of their own; where it would gather among such thoughts as they would be from the nightmares inhabiting a cycle of sleep. In them which draw upon words as they were written in clay, it would become from them in the surfaced pages of ashes that would become. From them in whispers told and spoken are the prayers that decided of when the dreams would tell when the darkness of heaven and hell would forebode in the eyes of those who see the etching within the patterns. In them as they would draw, in the darkness as they would etch their prayers within the clay. In a place where I describe as the setting of the dream would have to be about the time when I was sick up around November 2000, when I was in Wintrop Harbor.
From there which I describe that the duration of the dream would have to be about three hours in the time span. That it would be the creation of a town like Wintrop Harbor that would be of a place like that would be of a surreal thing. In a shadow of the mind which stands compromised, all that would remain that is written in clay – telling of the echoes that would be heard in a shadow whispered from prayers. From them as which takes into the details drawn into a darkness that I cannot begin to put into words – drawn from the patterns of the compromised, where it would drawn from them as described.
Telling of them as the shadow which I describe as the shape of a raven as it is perched from the hotel that I slept in – it was perched from a place that I was the only one who was able to see it. That it would only be in fragments that I could describe this, but it would be of them that take from details that are yet to be said – nor yet to be written; of them which descends further as I describe of this – where it would be as heaven nor hell can even see the darkness that is within the mind of one man. As in that would be the written pages that the dream would create various fragments that sketch themselves out from one detail into the next, even as vague as they would appear. From them as they would become as sketchy in the details that would become the mirror of the abyss.
In the places that fall from the places of disease -- drawn from the sleeping within the illness that becomes the darkness that haunts thyself. That it would be from thyself, where I would put to the pages as they are staring back like they have eyes of their own. Where it would gather among them in the pages -- the passages that would draw themselves out in form of years past, that it would be from the sleep study that the dream would make itself evident once again. In the span of time which becomes them -- an echo from the patterns as they are penned, to them in the eyes of the man who is writing them.