Sleep
By Abhijit Menon-Sen <ams@toroid.org>
The sheep are numbered, colour-coded; arranged in distracting patterns on the brink of wakefulness. My mind unravels after them; threads of the wrong colour, too interesting to be ignored. Everything conspires to wake me as I float towards a darkness which eludes me. The flesh is willing, but the spirit dissolves into consciousness again. I want my money back.