the medium of sleep

he sat alone, wondering how long before he had to move again. he could feel the man approaching, though no sound was audible he could sense the small feet almost gliding on the paved stone. He was up again fighting the screaming pain pouring from every limb and muscle in his body, He floundered in the dark striking his left knee on what felt to be a sharp unmoving thing. Stairs he thought scrambling up with not only his feet but his hands, chuckling to him self thinking how silly he must look running on all fours like some mad animal. there was a blow to his head, the man reared backwards and caught himself before cascading down the flight of stairs and having to repeat the monotonous climb of hand and feet again. door, he thought shakily rising to his shredded feet and stopped, he had heard it, the soft thumping that only leather makes in the act of being ran in. it stopped. he sensed the man was at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him and he knew though he couldn't see his hand out stretched in front of his face, that the man could see him. he could feel his chest constricting, his hart beat faltering and he knew the man could hear it. he slowly lifted his hand to the door in search for the knob, not wanting to alert the man. he knew the man had started to make his slow accent up the piano like stairs. his hand brushed a piece of smooth metal and he grasped it with the outmost rage and fear a single man is capable of mustering in a situation of utter horror and the animalistic instinct of life and death . he twisted and ripped his arm back with what felt like all the strength left in his shriveled body. there was the splintering of wood and as the feeble door flew open light exploded on to the stairs, he ripped around half expecting to find the man looming right behind him. Nothing, nothing, nothing but hard, cold, chiseled stone and the smell of rot and dampness. he took a step back and tripping over his own two feet, sprawled like an infant still learning the practice of walking. shaking violently he tried to preform and mental check. feet, tattered, left leg, still producing a steady stream of warm blood that was now pooling around him, left hand, at least three fingers broken and a sprained wrist, head, a few bruises and a migraine to rival the pain of a bullet wound. pushing up from his contorted position, he pathetically flipped over to his hands and knees. he crawled, slowly, agonizingly trance like through a small patch of what seemed to be carpet. he took in his surroundings, hot, to hot for any one man to be comfortable. The dust was a blanket covering even the smallest details of this morbid place. Moths littered the ground around him and a single bulb of light illuminated the putrid room. He lunged, reaching out he caught ahold of a thick fabric. beads of sweat where now starting to form on his brow and a slow drowsiness was eating its way into his mind. strangling the fabric now in both tortured hands he started to pull. what felt like minutes lumbering  he knew they where Meer seconds at most. as the fabric shot towards him he laughed aloud for he knew that this struggle was almost over. as the blanket wrapped its moldy worth around him he let go, sinking into an even darker blackness then what a mind portrays in the act of insanity.