Azizakhon

The night was set. The ambience was rainy and wet; the soft rain streamed down her face as she stood running, all the way to the forest. The thin ray of sunlight that was still left, illuminated her honey eyes, which searched for answers. A glim of hope in her obscure pupils. At last, she arrived at the gates of the forest, finally, where she needed to be.

It’s cold. I’m already passing the twelfth tree but cannot find it. The thirteenth; it might be here. I’m slowly digging snow with my bare hand … and THERE IT IS. The old and decaying map that I was looking forward to; now I have it. I opened it slightly as it was too fragile. There was nothing, just a blank paper. I got the wrong map. Again. Feeling overwhelmed, I was slowly felling down to the ground wondering, what I was going to do. But I need to find it.

She looked out the window, the snow gently falling on the busy city streets. She looked back down at her camera, fidgeting and biting her nails; she was hesitating to look at it. She looked back at the window again, sitting up slightly before making another cup of coffee.

I am sipping another cup of black coffee. Is it the sixth cup or seventh? Honestly, I lost the count; I am just drinking till I feel more awake. It’s been three weeks that I wake each morning and feeling as though I didn’t get more than a couple of hours of sleep. Of course, I visited the doctor; I’ve been through sleep examination and medications; I tried everything existing, nothing appears to work. But this time, I decided to videotape my night of sleep to define if I’m sleepwalking …

THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER Tajikistan Azizakhon THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER THE SLEEPWALKER