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Liminal

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Sometimes, when the leap was long enough, he'd have a chance to sleep.

A chance for nightmares. A chance for dreams.

But best of all was lying with his eyes closed, holding off the day for a just a little longer while his body remembered a hand resting on his shoulder, and his ears strained to hear the echoes of a gruff lullaby. Behind his eyelids bright lights danced in patterns he almost knew; and on his pillows the scents of cigars and hospitals mingled, as if the residue of a painful vigil had been caught forever in his hair.