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Então para ti e para todos os que têm insónias ou pesadelos, aqui fica um excerto dum projecto semi-abandonado aqui do Zealot.

When we sleep, we dream. We dream while we sleep. Why do we dream? If dreams are memories, why do we dream of people and places we’ve never seen?
We see, we sleep, we dream…
Insomnias…

1

Alexia ran down the hallway and bashed into the doorframe on the right side of the corridor. The old wooden floor beams and the wallpaper still had traces of the original color, a sort of very homely Spring-garden green. But details into house colors did not rush her mind. She gasped running down endless corridors, bents, doors, occasionally looking back. Once or twice she fell down, rolled over and went back on running. Evening colors melted onto the floor and walls next to windows.
A deep and low voice grunted behind her, hearing what seemed to be giant feet stomping and crushing the floor where it passed.
A curve. No exit. A flight of stairs to the right. Went up them three at a time. The small military id name tags tingled against her chest.
The walls where now covered in Victorian wallpaper, with flowery patterns of a very pale red. The muffled sounds of what was pursuing her came has a surprise, and when she turned around to see, the creature bashed it’s arm against her, throwing her a few feet into a wall. She fell down with the crash of wooden beams from the wall collapsing around her. She got up on her arms, feeling blood in her mouth, and not too sure about her right leg. She breathed deeply, incredibly tired, but still ready for a run-for-it. She looked into the darkness behind her, where two small globes stood. The voice spoke like 5 people, again with a very deep and cavernous tone:
- WHERE IS THE TOUCHSTONE?
She stayed breathing deeply, still tasting blood, hypnotized by those eyes. Huge black eyes were the only thing amidst all that darkness. They reminded her of…
- WHERE IS THE TOUCHSTONE?
She snapped out of it, rolled over and ran. Down a hallway, bashing the door open... She stopped dead.
It was some sort of catalogue room. Small cabinets were scattered here and there without any discernable pattern to them. There were about 25 of them, each with dozens of small drawers. It looked like some kind of library catalogue.
There was a door at the far side of the fairly lit room.
The single light bulb started to flicker. He was coming.
The door was locked. A small rusty plate was hanging from it.
- Samantha room… This just keeps getting better by the second…
Another door was busted open, hanging from the frame.
- WHERE IS THE TOUCHSTONE???
The eyes were just outside the room, and they sounded pretty angry.
She froze looking at them, and ran to the busted door. The next hallway
was half covered in beams. It was an attic. The ceiling had gave in, and it let in sunset light every beam or so. There were more cabinets covered in dust, a few broken metal chairs, and wheels that belonged to some old, old wheelchair. She was short of breath, but she couldn’t stop. There was another door. It was just a few feet away, yet seemed like it was miles from her. Her sweat ran down her back, down her face, mixing into a salty-bloody cocktail in her mouth. The chain she had still tingled against her chest and her short pearl-black hair was all over the place. She was tired, but she wasn’t a quitter.
-We can make it Alexia, we can make it…
All this time and she still referred to herself in plural.
She reached the door. The locked slipped into place when she turned the knob. She shook it but it wouldn’t give…
-Come on… come on…
The floor shook and she froze. In front of her, to the end of the hallway, was a blurry figure, like a ghost. It resembled a man, and the eyes were those black, threatening eyes she saw before. The panic began to her… She smashed the door with her elbow, and it painfully snapped out of place. She screamed in pain has she inserted her hand into the hole in the door, removing the lock on the other side, getting wood splinters all over her hand. She shrieked in pain, feeling dizzy. The door swung open. There were stairs to the left of a small space and a door to the right. There were small grates on top and at the bottom of the door. It was a small broom cupboard. She went up the stairs two at a time. Her right leg was still aching terribly.
-GIVE ME THE TOUCHSTONE!
The staircase narrowed has it went up and it was too late she realized…
-Shit… the roof…
She swung the roof door open. It was a beautiful sunset afternoon. The oranges and reds pierced her skin, and she felt like a newborn child, tired, scared… She walked to the end of the roof. It was a 5 story plunge. There was no escape.
Alexia heard him behind her and turned. There it was, in the sunlight, like on fire. Black mist steamed from him. His eyes were all that could be seen in the terror.
-GIVE IT TO ME!
Terrified, she put her left hand in her pocket. The splinters went in even deeper. She shook her head, closed her eyes, and a few tears dropped. Her hand came out of her pocket holding a piece of stone, heavily engraved. One side was round and smooth, the other was rugged and unbalanced.
She held it between her thumb and index fingers and showed it to him. His eyes blinked once.
-GIVE IT TO ME!
She smiled amidst the tears, closed her hand and threw it from the roof.
-NO! IT IS MINE!!!
She looked behind, smiled, and ran forward, out of the roof, flying through the air. She had the urge to laugh, and started crackling loudly. A madly laughter… Louder and louder… The ground was getting close…
Louder… and louder…
She screamed, covering her eyes as she crashed into the floor.
She screamed…