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Other essays on this theme
Essay: "Childhood"by Patrick Brady I awake to silence. It's calm, comforting and creepy. I lay awake in my concrete catacomb and listen to my cellie softly breathe. Staring at the ceiling they start to come. Slowly they worm their way out of the recesses of my mind and play their part in the lonely theater of my memories. It's an all-star cast. Method actors one and all. Marching through my past like an army of torment. Oh, they're all here now. Mom, sisters, wife, kids/ Not a lot of men though. It's a bit old. Maybe it's Freudian. Who the hell knows? As the wee hours pass the march goes on. The memories morph into a deluge of images. Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn't matter. I'm sure you know what it's like. Can't sleep, mind's racing; heart's beating, time's wasting. The world is asleep and it doesn't seem right as you lie awake in the middle of the night.
Patrick Brady
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