There are fears that don't exist during the day, while you're awake, except as a worm at the back of your mind, nibbling at your sanity. You can ignore the worm, push it away, spray it with sweet-tasting pesticides and wash it away with a rush of adrenaline.

But at night, in the dark when your eyes are closed, they're waiting, always right there waiting. It's in your dreams they come alive.

Because in your dreams the only thing that matters has been destroyed and it's over, over, over and the world is falling apart around your and all you can think of is that the last thing that meant anything to you is gone and it's all pointless now, like there's no purpose, like nothing else exists.

And in the dream you're screaming and no one is listening and they're right there and they can't seem to see you or understand what's just happened. In the dream you're being torn open and torn apart and they don't seem to hear your cries of pain. But why should they? Not like they understand. Not like they care.

In your dreams, you lose everything.

The fear is always there, waiting for you to fall asleep. You pump yourself up with sugar and caffeine and excitement in the hopes that you might put off resting a little longer, that you might hold out a little longer before you have to give in to the worm of fear in the back of your mind.

You know that if you fall asleep you'll waking up screaming a name into the dark and no one answers because you're alone.

That's what it's like if you're like him.