[ WP ] Write a story of a person whose dreams continue a single story each night .

There's a humming sound coming from the flat above me. It's like a wasp circling my head, trying to get at the mandarin that keeps on appearing in my hand. If I shake my hand the mandarin disappears, but the hum carries on. I know the hum is real. I know that if I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror then terrible things might happen. I just have to keep reminding myself to concentrate and stay, stay... stay...... 
 
 Awake. 
 
 Awakeawakeawake. Slap your cheek. Pinch your wrist. Breathe-two-breathe-two. Focus. 
 
 There's an empty coffee mug on the carpet next to me. Two coffee mugs. Sometimes there's more, but I'm not entirely sure of it. The mandarin's now sitting in one. It's tricky, that mandarin. Tricky. Tee-ricky. Tricky trick. Tricky. I like that sound. If the mandarin is a tricky devil, she's the wine-dark grape. Petite, sweet, soft under the skin. I'd pick her from the bunch. Bunchamuncha. Nice ring to it. 
 
 Focus. Stay awake. 
 
 She needs me to. 
 
 I'll just take a sip of this to keep me going. I should tell you all about her, my graceful grape, how she is dressed in white and red and black. I have never been much of a dreamer, but she found me in my dreams. She was at a distance, like a gossamer mannequin. Quin. Kin. Quinkydink. A chance meeting, but she ran to me and made me promise to never let her go. 
 
 She'd be with me every night. Together we roamed the strangest lands, and I'd fight beasts and phantasms and that kid from primary school, and she'd sit under a tree and watch me. She has a laugh like raindrops on paper. Soaks right through my paper soul. Solo. So lonely without her. I wish... 
 
 I ca n't. I wo n't. I must stay awake. 
 
 She needs me to. 
 
 Week after week after weekety-week, she followed me. She showed me her castle, her kingdom, and pulled close to me. She whispered in my ear, *crown a king, crown a king*, and traced a tear with her finger on my face. She never said she loved me, but I know I love her. 
 
 The mandarin's back. I think he lives here. Has a bed in the egg-carton in the fridge. I took all the eggs out yesterday to try and find him, but he was n't there. I tried to put the eggs back but they ran through my fingers. 
 
 Like blood. 
 
 So much blood. I had left her in the castle, in the room of the morning sun, and now there was blood. A dark lake across the floor, all over the bedspread and lapping against the curtains. It ran from the bathroom and I waded up to my soles and ankles and knees in it. Swim swam up to the door. Blood dark as wine. 
 
 Awoke. 
 
 A week. A week ago. I dare n't sleep. I ca n't go back. She is dead, she is dead, but not dead unless I go back. Backarackarack. If I stay awake long enough, she might come to me. I know I'm seeing the mandarin. There are times when I remember that I've been taking coffee and meds and running a knife across my thumb to keep awake. Because she needs me to. Not to. 
 
 Not to close my eyes 
 
 My eyes. Eyelids 
 
 
 She is n't dead... 
 
. 
 
 She is dead 
 
. 
 
. 
 
 A wake 
 
. 
 
. 
 
. 
 
 A dreamless sleep.
