It crackled in the corner. A street light lit the room dimly through a torn curtain. The sound ate away at me as I curled and clawed in bed.
My imagination. It had to be.
It continued like waterboarding. No rhythm, never stopping. I scraped at my scalp, wishing for it to end. Any of it.
The night thrashed me and I longed for daylight. Routine. I laid and wondered how much the sound was a part of me.
Should I never sleep?