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qcontinuumOOC: Sleep ficlet for application for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
muse_academy.
Muse Name: Q
Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Prompt Number: Application
Title: Sleep
Warnings/Disclaimers: Based directly on the episode "Deja Q" of Star Trek:TNG.
Word Count: 1333
The thing I really don't understand about sleep is why it doesn't terrify you mortals.
You talk about sleep as if it's relaxing. Fun! Sweet sleep. Gentle sleep. Delicious sleep. Has it occurred to any of you that from your own perspective, the only way you can tell the difference between being asleep and being dead is that you wake up from being asleep? (Okay, obviously it *has* occurred to some of you, for instance William Shakespeare. But most of you seem to treat it as a fun adventure to another country, rather than what it is, which is THE TOTAL CESSATION OF YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS.)
I have fallen asleep exactly once in my existence. I had been thrown out of the Continuum and condemned to mere mortality, and either because he didn't believe me or because he didn't think I'd suffered enough, or both, Picard had me thrown in the brig on his ship when I showed up there to beg for sanctuary. (He also made me wear the most incredibly ugly outfit, ever. Well, technically Troi made me wear it, but I would have been able to stand up to her and refuse the ugly outfit if Picard wasn't refusing to even talk to me until I had some clothes on.)
So here I am, a being formerly capable of transiting time and space with a thought, an entity who used to be able to think himself back to the Big Bang or out to the far extremes of the universe in a moment, stuck in this tiny, dreary little cubicle without so much as a book to read. I paced, and I ranted, and I tested the forcefield about ten zillion times (not counting the times I accidentally ran into it, because it's *invisible*, oh and yes, isn't that a brilliant way to construct a prison? "We'll lock you up in a cell where the fourth wall binding you is completely imperceptible to your primary method of distance perception! And then we'll gloat about how humane we are because a prison that doesn't *look* like it's holding you in is so much kinder than one where you can see the bars!" Color me unimpressed.) And I argued with the security guard, who would not give me one single thing to entertain myself, not a book, not a PADD, not even crayons and paper, without getting authorization from Picard. And who refused to actually ask Picard for said authorization. Those experiments that prove that humans turn into petty tyrants when given power over prisoners never went quite far enough, in my opinion. But I digress.
After a while, the futility and boredom (and, to be honest, sheer terror... was I going to be locked up in a box like this for the rest of my life? How long would the rest of my life be anyway, now that I was mortal? What if species who didn't appreciate the lessons I taught them came after me looking for revenge? And how long was I going to have to wear such a hideous outfit?) wore me out, and I sat down on the bed in the cell. And then my back was aching and my feet hurt and I thought maybe it would be more comfortable if I lay down on the bed. And then my eyelids seemed to be getting heavy so I thought maybe I would rest them by closing them.
And then I felt it. I hadn't realized the extent to which each little step I was taking reflected how my energy seemed to be draining out of me until I felt... almost a sensation of falling, and dizziness. I opened my eyes and realized it was hard to do so. And I didn't seem to have the strength to move my limbs. And when I forced myself to do it anyway, and sat up, I felt an overwhelming desire to stop moving them and lay back down again. Simply staying upright seemed beyond me. Gravity was dragging at me and I didn't have the energy to fight it.
I had no idea what was happening to me, and I thought about calling the security guard for medical attention but it seemed to be too hard to make myself speak, and I was terrified. Well, no. Actually, I need to clarify that. I thought that I *should* be terrified. Later I found out that when you're actually terrified, the adrenaline pumping through your body makes you capable of doing nearly anything you need to in order to avoid the thing you're terrified of. What was actually happening was that I was too exhausted to be terrified; I thought I was dying, but what I was feeling about it was mostly a sense of resignation and despair. Mortals die; I was mortal. I had no idea why my chosen form would have survived such a very short time or what I was dying of, but I couldn't think straight, and right then it felt like it didn't matter. I couldn't stop whatever this was that was happening to me, and I was alone and no one cared anyway and maybe it would be easier this way because at least this didn't hurt. Most of the time when I see mortals die, they seem to be in pain, and I had already learned not to be fond of pain just from the mild pangs I'd already suffered. Maybe it was best if I died right now.
And then at some point I regained consciousness, and I felt cold and sluggish and it took several minutes before I could understand where I was or what was happening to me or why I couldn't seem to do anything. (In fact, at first I was unclear on the concept that I no longer had my powers. You'd think that wouldn't be the sort of thing you'd forget.) Once I had gotten myself fully alert again, I sat on the bed and tried not to show the security guard how terrified I was, because now that I was alert and had the energy to be afraid again, *now* I was terrified. What had just happened? Why did I suddenly lose consciousness like that? Why couldn't I remember any of what had just happened? The only other time in my existence I suffered a memory loss, I had been torn apart, as close to dead as an immortal being can get... was I suffering brain damage? Was my body defective? Was this going to happen again?
Finally Picard showed up to ask me what was going on, which was ridiculous, because from my prison cell I obviously knew much less about what was going on than he did, and I managed to overcome my pride and my desire to not admit to weakness enough to ask him what had just happened to me. He said, and I quote, "You fell asleep." As if I were an idiot for not knowing that.
Later that day, when I had to spend many hours in Sickbay because I'd been attacked by creatures who wanted me dead (which is another story), everyone told me to go to sleep, but how was I supposed to do that? There were beings who wanted me *dead*, and besides, aside from the being attacked thing the falling asleep thing was the most terrifying thing that had happened to me that day. I was supposed to voluntarily will this cessation of consciousness upon myself? No thank you.
I was, thankfully, restored to my proper place in the Continuum, with my powers and my lack of a need to randomly shut down my mind, later that day, without having to experience the nightmare of sleep again. But how do you people *stand* it, night after night? How is it that you *embrace* it, and talk about it as if it were pleasant? It's like *dying*. What's fun about that?
muse_academy.Muse Name: Q
Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Prompt Number: Application
Title: Sleep
Warnings/Disclaimers: Based directly on the episode "Deja Q" of Star Trek:TNG.
Word Count: 1333
The thing I really don't understand about sleep is why it doesn't terrify you mortals.
You talk about sleep as if it's relaxing. Fun! Sweet sleep. Gentle sleep. Delicious sleep. Has it occurred to any of you that from your own perspective, the only way you can tell the difference between being asleep and being dead is that you wake up from being asleep? (Okay, obviously it *has* occurred to some of you, for instance William Shakespeare. But most of you seem to treat it as a fun adventure to another country, rather than what it is, which is THE TOTAL CESSATION OF YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS.)
I have fallen asleep exactly once in my existence. I had been thrown out of the Continuum and condemned to mere mortality, and either because he didn't believe me or because he didn't think I'd suffered enough, or both, Picard had me thrown in the brig on his ship when I showed up there to beg for sanctuary. (He also made me wear the most incredibly ugly outfit, ever. Well, technically Troi made me wear it, but I would have been able to stand up to her and refuse the ugly outfit if Picard wasn't refusing to even talk to me until I had some clothes on.)
So here I am, a being formerly capable of transiting time and space with a thought, an entity who used to be able to think himself back to the Big Bang or out to the far extremes of the universe in a moment, stuck in this tiny, dreary little cubicle without so much as a book to read. I paced, and I ranted, and I tested the forcefield about ten zillion times (not counting the times I accidentally ran into it, because it's *invisible*, oh and yes, isn't that a brilliant way to construct a prison? "We'll lock you up in a cell where the fourth wall binding you is completely imperceptible to your primary method of distance perception! And then we'll gloat about how humane we are because a prison that doesn't *look* like it's holding you in is so much kinder than one where you can see the bars!" Color me unimpressed.) And I argued with the security guard, who would not give me one single thing to entertain myself, not a book, not a PADD, not even crayons and paper, without getting authorization from Picard. And who refused to actually ask Picard for said authorization. Those experiments that prove that humans turn into petty tyrants when given power over prisoners never went quite far enough, in my opinion. But I digress.
After a while, the futility and boredom (and, to be honest, sheer terror... was I going to be locked up in a box like this for the rest of my life? How long would the rest of my life be anyway, now that I was mortal? What if species who didn't appreciate the lessons I taught them came after me looking for revenge? And how long was I going to have to wear such a hideous outfit?) wore me out, and I sat down on the bed in the cell. And then my back was aching and my feet hurt and I thought maybe it would be more comfortable if I lay down on the bed. And then my eyelids seemed to be getting heavy so I thought maybe I would rest them by closing them.
And then I felt it. I hadn't realized the extent to which each little step I was taking reflected how my energy seemed to be draining out of me until I felt... almost a sensation of falling, and dizziness. I opened my eyes and realized it was hard to do so. And I didn't seem to have the strength to move my limbs. And when I forced myself to do it anyway, and sat up, I felt an overwhelming desire to stop moving them and lay back down again. Simply staying upright seemed beyond me. Gravity was dragging at me and I didn't have the energy to fight it.
I had no idea what was happening to me, and I thought about calling the security guard for medical attention but it seemed to be too hard to make myself speak, and I was terrified. Well, no. Actually, I need to clarify that. I thought that I *should* be terrified. Later I found out that when you're actually terrified, the adrenaline pumping through your body makes you capable of doing nearly anything you need to in order to avoid the thing you're terrified of. What was actually happening was that I was too exhausted to be terrified; I thought I was dying, but what I was feeling about it was mostly a sense of resignation and despair. Mortals die; I was mortal. I had no idea why my chosen form would have survived such a very short time or what I was dying of, but I couldn't think straight, and right then it felt like it didn't matter. I couldn't stop whatever this was that was happening to me, and I was alone and no one cared anyway and maybe it would be easier this way because at least this didn't hurt. Most of the time when I see mortals die, they seem to be in pain, and I had already learned not to be fond of pain just from the mild pangs I'd already suffered. Maybe it was best if I died right now.
And then at some point I regained consciousness, and I felt cold and sluggish and it took several minutes before I could understand where I was or what was happening to me or why I couldn't seem to do anything. (In fact, at first I was unclear on the concept that I no longer had my powers. You'd think that wouldn't be the sort of thing you'd forget.) Once I had gotten myself fully alert again, I sat on the bed and tried not to show the security guard how terrified I was, because now that I was alert and had the energy to be afraid again, *now* I was terrified. What had just happened? Why did I suddenly lose consciousness like that? Why couldn't I remember any of what had just happened? The only other time in my existence I suffered a memory loss, I had been torn apart, as close to dead as an immortal being can get... was I suffering brain damage? Was my body defective? Was this going to happen again?
Finally Picard showed up to ask me what was going on, which was ridiculous, because from my prison cell I obviously knew much less about what was going on than he did, and I managed to overcome my pride and my desire to not admit to weakness enough to ask him what had just happened to me. He said, and I quote, "You fell asleep." As if I were an idiot for not knowing that.
Later that day, when I had to spend many hours in Sickbay because I'd been attacked by creatures who wanted me dead (which is another story), everyone told me to go to sleep, but how was I supposed to do that? There were beings who wanted me *dead*, and besides, aside from the being attacked thing the falling asleep thing was the most terrifying thing that had happened to me that day. I was supposed to voluntarily will this cessation of consciousness upon myself? No thank you.
I was, thankfully, restored to my proper place in the Continuum, with my powers and my lack of a need to randomly shut down my mind, later that day, without having to experience the nightmare of sleep again. But how do you people *stand* it, night after night? How is it that you *embrace* it, and talk about it as if it were pleasant? It's like *dying*. What's fun about that?