In RM. No. 17-Asteria, nineteen year old, Shyko Tobibakare counted every stroke of her paintbrush as she moved it across the canvas like an experienced prima ballerina so effortlessly and effervescently. She preferred to use her usual acrylic paint to do her artwork, but the powers that be at Camp Hypnos wouldn't let her because of risk of huffing or accidentally getting high from the fumes in her room, since it wasn't enough ventilation with only one window and it couldn't open unless by Mikcari in the case of fire or other emergency. Every camper's room was set up this way. Another safeguard issue for those on the upper level who'd think of jumping or from sneaking into another camper's room to avoid the security system at the camper's front door.

Every window at the camp was dual-pane to prevent breakage of it as a whole. She sighed, standing back from the canvas looking with a critical eye at the watercolor painting she'd created and finished. She lay down her palette and brush.

She left her art alone to dry. After washing her brushes, changing her clothing and neatening her space. She took out her sketchbook from her writing desk and sat on the bed. She counted each movement she made on the paper with each pencil. She groaned after finishing each drawing. After doing three of them.

She threw her sketchbook across the room hitting the easel the canvas was on and making it teeter back and forth. She raised a brow watching it as it moved like a seesaw. It finally stabilized without toppling over.

She ran her fingers frustratingly through her short pixie haircut. She picked up her sketchbook and started to sketch, counting her movement across the paper again. "Arghh," she screeched through clenched teeth.

This ritual she'd taught herself to do to get to sleep seemed to fail her this time. She went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face to calm herself. She was half-Guyanese and Beninese-Abazinian. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot and sunken into her light brown complexion from no sleep. She dried her face with a towel and she left the bathroom.

She picked up the sketchbook again determined to sketch until exhaustion. Her mind and body was so wired she swore the natural buzz it was on could've lit a city block. Shyko lay down on the bed.

Several hours later, seven doors down from Shyko, Pricilla's legs were rubbing against the sheets. She suffered from restless legs syndrome, a condition causing the uncontrollable urge to move her legs when there's discomfort. Despite this the bedding and sheets were comfortable, since the feel of the sheets against her bare legs was comforting but was temporarily heightening her anxiety level to the max. She tossed and turned. She finally settled on her back. There was an incessant sound breaking through her tug-of-war with her sanity and elusive rest and relaxation.

"What's that chiming sound?" she thought, purposely trying to keep her eyes close and not letting the curiosity get the better of her. It's too late she was in thinking mode and was forcing the idea of sleep upon herself. She lay on her side and looked at the clock.  It was a quarter to five in the morning. She closed her eyes to give herself more time to nod off. The chiming sound stopped. Thirty-three minutes later, she woke up again.

It was 5:20 a.m. The chiming started again. She got up in pain. Both of her feet had charley horses. Moving her feet only exacerbated the pain. She tried to rub the bottom of her feet to stop them from hurting but it seemed she was causing the pain to deepen even more. She scooted to the edge of the bed to stand up. Her foot spasmodically hit the wall. Her toes hurt for a few minutes. She remembered when she was totally burned out from lack of sleep her first few months at university. She was in and out of the hospital for the unpredictable spasms.

She had no control over them. They happened more when she was under anxiety, stress and had no rest. Her neurologist diagnosed her with having hyper reflexes. She stood up and hit her feet on the ground a few times and started to walk. This was the usual thing she did to get the pain to go away. As she walked toward the door, it did and her muscles released the tension in her feet.

She saw a flashing red light under her door. The chiming sound was still going. "Is there an emergency? Do we campers need to evacuate?" she thought. She opened the door and walked into the corridor. The flashing red light through the dimly lit corridor toyed with her mind knocking it off balance where she saw periods of darkness from the midst of the flashing. This incited her usual migraine to start. The corners of her eyes stung from needle-like pain. Pressure in her head was like an anvil crushing her skull. There were sun spots circling in front of her face, her vision affected from the massive headache and strain of seeing her way down the corridor.

She stopped moving for a moment. Her hand pressed against the wall. She closed her eyes awaiting her mind to stop dizzying. She swallowed hard. Everything seemed like it was swimming around her and it was overwhelming her senses. She opened her eyes and moved through the mental fogginess, continuing to hold onto the wall for support.

For a moment, things went black. She bumped into something solid but moving. She stumbled backward and fell on the carpeted floor. What looked like a lacy curtain or sheet past over her face. She scrambled onto her side. She looked at a blurry apparition moving mechanically, but with a casual manner through the corridor. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands trying to focus. The chiming and the flashing red light stopped. Pricilla stood up.

The blur Pricilla saw before returned but in the company of a male guide. He had a dreamboat flattop hairstyle. He had a round face with a mercurial nose. His eyes had a dark sex appeal about them. He was medium build and height. He was half-Greek-Catanian. He wore a tank top with plaid shirt over it unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up and pajama pants. He spoke softly to Shyko as the girl shadowing him said:

"Flesh matters none. It's only ashes and dust. But the bones tell a story whether in fragments or whole they have memory and keep perfect time," as she looked hauntingly right through Pricilla as if she were the ghost.

Pricilla realized the specter was a real young woman and she was sleepwalking. Her migraine was subsiding and she was gaining clarity.

She stood still playing over in her head what the sleepwalking girl just said. The words sounded so familiar.

"Hi. I'm Pricilla. I'm one of the campers here. Who is she?"

"I'm Andar. I'm a camper here, too and one of the camp's volunteers. Her name's Shyko."

"Were you paying attention to what she said?" Priscilla asked with a furrowed brow, her eyes wide.

"Yes. She's having one of her parasomnia episodes. Sometimes she talks while sleepwalking usually quoting something she last heard," Andar shrugged.

"I heard a chiming noise and there was a flashing light."

"That was Mikcari. Whenever there's a sleepwalker on the loose. It alerts everyone with a chiming noise and a flashing red light. Sorry for the inconvenience. You can go back to your room now."

Over two hours later, the group therapy session began. It was 7:30 a.m.

"Has everyone had breakfast?" Andar asked.

The others attending in the group murmured 'yes' in unison.

"Whoever wants to start first, can."

Everyone looked at each other briefly. One of them shuffled their feet in the seated position. Another shifted in their chair. A third looked down at the floor as if looking for it to speak first or give an answer if it had one.

"Okay, I'll start first. But one of you has to go next and so on. It's up to you how well you spend your time here. It doesn't have to be today, but some time or else you're wasting your time and money. Only come to Camp Hypnos, if you want help. This isn't a vacation. It's steps to managing and treating your own sleep health."

"My name's Andar Westenbrink. I'm eighteen years old. I suffer from night terrors and panic attacks..."

"My apologies for my tardiness," a young woman interjected. She had long hair dyed pink with white lowlights in a crimped hairstyle, big, blue eyes, button nose and matte reddish-pink lipstick on oval lips and an oval-shaped face. She was half-Chinese-Portuguese. She wore a black, pleated, off-the-shoulder top with a tank top underneath and camouflage cargo pants with open-toed four-inch heels. She sat next to Shyko across from Pricilla. She took her coach purse off her shoulder and hung it on the back of her chair. She crossed her legs and bobbed one of her feet up and down in place.

"Is it all right if I leave my luggage there by the door, until this session is over?" she asked.

"Yes, it's quite all right," Andar answered.

"Awesome. Do you have any coffee or tea? I'd love a cuppa," she asked looking around the room.

"No coffee, only tea." Andar pointed to the automatic teapot diagonally across from her.

"Does it have caffeine?"

"No, it's herbal."

"What's the bloody point, if it doesn't have caffeine?"

"We don't allow any stimulants of any kind here at Camp Hypnos, including caffeine. All natural is strictly required."

"Water, then?"

"There's bottled water in the fridge," Andar pointed.

She opened the refrigerator and got a bottle of water. She went back and sat down, putting the bottled water on the floor next to her chair.

"Has the group chat started already?" she asked.

"You can go right ahead, if you like," Andar said gesturing towards her, glancing at the group.

"Lovely. My name's Kevyn Starright. I'm twenty years old. I have a son. He's two now. I was diagnosed with postpartum OCD. The first three months my son was colicky. He couldn't sleep. My fiancé and I weren't living together at the time. I was up with our son all night in my apartment. I was instructed by his doctor to change his formula. I was also nursing him. Nothing worked. Until one night, I lay my baby prone position atop my belly. He started to sleep quite soundly and his tummy actually settled. If I tried to move, it would only stir the situation back up. No pun intended. Whatever those mechanisms are called to facilitate sleep, mine stopped working. I was like a still life portrait for three to six months letting him lie on my belly with me sitting upright against the headboard. I didn't, couldn't sleep. I didn't feel exhausted or tired."

"Did he finally get over the colic and sleep well in his crib?" one of the members of the group asked.

"Yes, he did get over the colic. But I couldn't get to a normal sleep schedule. When I did fall asleep, I'd have these awful nightmares about these men lying in wait to take my child. I must've woken up in the middle of the night and then gone back to sleep, because when I woke up again my son wasn't in his crib. I'd look over and he'd be there in bed right next to me. This happened a few more times and I realised I must've been sleepwalking. I know he didn't get into bed with me on his own. He was still a newborn. I felt like I had to protect him from the men I was dreaming about. The second night it happened. I had a moment of clarity, during my sleepwalking state and I saw myself picking him up and putting him in bed. It was like seeing in a glimpse through the fog. I don't remember lying down next to him or going back to sleep. But I woke up in the middle of the night after having a nightmare worried for my baby. I looked over and there he was right next to me. That's when I knew I'd been sleepwalking."

"Have you had any treatment for it?" someone in the group asked.

"No, I've talked about it a couple of times with close friends or relatives. This is the first time in a very long time I talked about it. It took me nearly two years to talk about it at all, at first."

"Have there been recent episodes?"

"I was in the hospital for sleep deprivation. I was dreaming that my son was drowning and my fiancé was nowhere to be found. I had to save my child. I must've been sleepwalking again, because the next thing I knew I woke up in the morgue in the body storage drawer. I scared the hell out of the morgue assistant who was pulling the drawer out, during inventory check. I said, No, no, I'm just passing through. I'll get out right here, love. Thank you."

"Bloody hell. That bloke's going to have trauma for the rest of his life," Andar said raising a brow.

"I take full responsibility for that," she picked up the bottled water and took a few sips. "It was great inspiration for our next performance though. Art imitating real life that sort of thing," she shrugged one of her shoulders.

"I saw that concert a few weeks ago. Kevyn Starright, yeah," Pricilla said chiming in, snapping her fingers. "You're the drummer for Dead Particle Bunnies."

"There's none other," Kevyn said smiling, curtsying as she remained seated in her chair.

"I didn't recognize you this close and personal. I'm usually way behind the crowd, in the shadows."

"Always nice to meet a fan," she said standing up leaning forward to shake Pricilla's hand. "Although, your voice sounds familiar."

"I don't know why it would," Pricilla said shaking her hand and glancing around the room at the staring faces. "I remember after that concert, they censored you lot."

"Yeah, bloody censorship laws, rules and regulations. Art, music, anything creative should never be censored. I swear I've heard you somewhere. You have a distinctive voice, unforgettable. I don't know I guess it's because I have an ear, an attraction to sensual, unique voices speaking and singing voices. My fiancé says I have an unusual gift for sound. Helps me compose the songs for our band. I can hear the chords each sound specifically, apart and together. Makes our sound, music, songs extremely rare and unique," Kevyn said staring at Pricilla with an investigative, steely look.

Pricilla's head moved uncontrollably to the right side twice for a moment; one of her tics arising when she was stressed, nervous, or anxiety-ridden.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," Kevyn said raising a brow, noticing her tic.

Pricilla had a distant look in her eyes and started scratching her upper arm underneath one of her quarter-length sleeves, pushing it up a bit as she did.

"We'll move onto the next member of the group," Andar interpolated, glancing at one of the cutting scars on her upper arm that had long ago healed.

Pricilla stopped scratching her arm and said, "I'll go next," she raised her hand.

"Are you sure?" Andar asked.

"Yes. Don't worry I haven't regressed into old habits in three years," Pricilla said patting her arm, letting Andar know she noticed him looking at it. "The urge is no longer there or still remains dormant. I was just reminding myself where I was and where I am now. That's all," she said with a sigh.

"Ok," Andar nodded.

"I'm Pricilla Letting. I'm eighteen. I'm the oldest of four. My siblings call me Pricki, because I'm easily irritated and I have a bad temper. I've learned to manage it most of the time now. I try to find things to calm me down like music. I tend to listen to dark music, ironically it relaxes me. Dead Particle Bunnies is at the top of that list," she said glancing over at Kevyn, who smiled at her. She looked over at Andar and said, "May I have herbal tea sent to my room, a box of it? I don't know if it'll help me sleep but I'm willing to try it. I'm always looking for natural remedies to relax me."

"Done."

"Thanks, Andar. I was diagnosed in the United States 2019 with sporadic fatal insomnia."

"You went to the future for your diagnosis. I did, too, to the states 2018," Kevyn cut in. "Sorry, carry on," she said as Andar gave her a warning look.

"It was because a lot of my disorders weren't diagnosed at my early age and not in our time here in 1996. Dismissed as teenage angst and all. Or overreaction. But I went on a travel era visa to the U.S. where I got the answers I needed. Sleep is such a vital and precious thing. And when you can't have it and you so desperately want it. It can become the only thing you desire. You'll do anything to get it even take your own life so you can have it forever. Just to have a goodnight's sleep is such a beautiful vocation. People who can sleep take it for granted. They don't understand why we can't. Why it becomes a chore, a quest to even try to fall asleep," she said looking around the room at the group nodding their heads, eyes filled with emotion, mumbling in agreement with Pricilla. "You can die without sleep. I didn't know that it was fatal until after my diagnosis. I realized how precious life is, too. Leaves me torn at times between wanting to sleep and living. Life is a dream fulfilled. Live in it. For death is being wide awake."

The teapot began to tremble and shake. The tea inside it rose to a boil.

"What the...?" Andar raised a furrowed brow standing up from his chair. The others in the group looked startled. "I could've sworn...I must've not put it on the proper setting. It's all right," he said over his shoulder at the others in the room as he approached the teapot. He got close enough to see that it was set correctly. "That seems to be in order. It shouldn't be still boiling only staying at a certain temperature. I'll switch it off. He pressed the 'off' button. It remained the same. The heat continued to boil the tea and steam started to rise and expand. "I'll just unplug it then. I'm not sure what's going on," he said unplug it from the wall socket, sighing with relief. The sound of the steam hissed and whistled. It still boiled and the steam expanded until it overwhelmed the teapot.

 Andar stepped back and the glass shattered. He held his arm up over his face. Pricilla got up to run. In mid-stride, she yelled out. "No!" the shattered glass and scalding hot coffee shooting out in mid-air stopped dead centre, a hair's breadth away from Andar's bare arm. The shards of glass fell to the floor sounding like wind chimes and the coffee splattered like paint, both sizzling on the floor a bit of a flickering flame showing itself for a moment before abruptly dying out. The plug set aflame.

"The sprinkling system must be jammed. It should've come on by now, "Andar said as Pricilla put her arm around his waist and got him out of harm's way.

"Everyone get out of here!" Pricilla shouted leading Andar to the door as she pulled the lever to the fire alarm next to the door, beckoning with her hand. She waited for all of them to leave. She heard them calling her name. She glanced over her shoulder at the group. She looked back towards the room. "Mikcari, what's wrong with the sprinkler system. Can you switch it on?"

"I've tried, Pricilla. My systems won't let me, for an unknown reason."

The flames from the plug were peaking and the smoke filled the room. Kevyn jerked one of Pricilla's arms and Stevfan the other. She looked up at the sprinkler system in the ceiling. "Come on now. Save the day," she said to the sprinkler system before they pulled her away. The sprinklers came on squelching the fire.

"Systems are normal," Mikcari said with relief in its voice, releasing the chemicals of what would be in a handheld fire extinguisher from the sprinkler system after the room was thoroughly saturated, foaming it up to further ensure fire safety measures.   

After the group therapy session was over, a tall, curvy girl with midnight-ruby colored hair approached Pricilla.  "Andar told me I knocked you down when I was sleepwalking last night. I want to apologize. I was totally out of it. I don't think I even saw you there at first. Not until he guided me back to my room. But I was still only half-lucid. Shyko Tobibakare, nice to meet you in my fully awakened state," she said with a bit of a laugh, extending her hand to Pricilla."

Pricilla smiled, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you. I've been there. No worries. Hey, you said something last night about 'bones', 'flesh' telling a story or something like that? Where did you hear that from?" she asked.

"Ohh, yeah. From you? It was the last thing I heard before I came here to Camp Hypnos. I seem to only recite what really resonates with me, my soul."

"No, you and I just met. I couldn't have. You couldn't have heard it from me."