Build-The-Moon

I shake my head and laugh slightly. "You know, this is probably the craziest shit I've ever done." I reach over and stroke back the sleeping infants's hair, which was the colour of falling autumn leaves against her porcelain skin. She flinches as I touch her. I let her sleep there on the floor simply because she wouldn't sleep in my arms. She'd fuss and cry and scream. She didn't like me. I could only hope she would eventually. I sigh and stare out the window. The road moves past quickly, we have to be doing at least 75. Impressive for the hippy van that Caleb drives. I look at his face in the rear-view mirror. His jaw is set. He's deep in

I've had dreams before. Not many, but I have. Dreams are something that I seldom see. Dreams are foreign, beautiful, and strange arrangements of light, colour, and sound. Instead, I have nightmares. My name is Katrielle, and I'm an insomniac. Many people don't realize that insomnia is a disease; a syndrome, a sickness. I realize that, but I hate calling it that. Just because I can't fall asleep at night, now apparently I'm ill? That's stupid. Instead, I call myself an artist of awareness. Since I've developed this 'artistry' – which started 6 years ago – I've mastered piano, created 3 compositions, cleaned, repainted, and rearran