Excerpt: Sword Dance

I think—no, it couldn't be. I think I might have seen my Sister, but I do not know. I have not seen my Sister in three years, but it looked like my Sister, or like my memory of my Sister.

After all, this is where it begins to make sense—if that is what it makes after all, if sense is something that can be applied to the crazy dreams and the delusions in the first place—but I do not know what my Sister looks like, and I do not know my Brother's name anymore. I have not dreamed in nearly a week, and as I sit here waiting for sleep, I hope I dream again, but I am not holding hope where it makes a difference to me. I do not think that it would help very much, but I could at least do better than crying myself to sleep at night—not just one night, but really every night—because I know that I will not dream.

Is it too much to ask, to know my Brother's name? I punch the pillow resoundingly, but it hurts my hand too much to do again, and I find that as much as I want to, I cannot cry. I know I gave Permission for this, but I cannot remember what that means. I only feel this vague longing deep in my heart.

I throw the pillow across the room before realising that I need to get up to get the pillow, so that I can at least try and sleep.

But I think I see my Sister, sitting in the corner of the room, and I know she is not there.