'To Kay, there was no such thing as a good nights' sleep. There hadn't been in years. Sleep brought with it nightmares and old regrets and past lives and memories he wished would die as easily as he had seen so many strong, good men around him die. Since he'd moved his insomnia had lessened, that was true; but saying that it had been cured would be like saying that blowing air in the face of a fish out of water was a cure to its suffocation and asphyxiation. No, there was no <i>cure</i>, there was no solace. He would find temporary reprise in a pack of cigarettes and a disjointed curse at his lot in the world; at the person that had brought this all about: but even if she heard him it was more likely that the gods themselves would apologize for his suffering than she was to change Kay's own situation.

No. His only friends now were the tendrils of smoke that wreathed him and the light around him in their inky grasp."

*~~*

this was a personal challenge not only to create an emotionally charged piece without a physically or compositionally evoking image, but also a practice in style, in technique, in contrast and color control, and mostly in patience.

i think i've learned a lot from the piece and i will try and utalize these lessons in more pieces to come.