I had often thought that the sandman was nothing more than a way to trick children into thinking they were controlled by sleep. I thought that if I had stayed up one night, I could fight the hypnotizing dust. I was sadly mistaken. She creeped into my bed, inch by inch-- gasping and wheezing with much struggle. She held up her talon like nails and clawed at my eyeball. I laid, helplessly watching. I saw the blood drip onto my cheek as I looked at my eye in her hands. My body was numb. I was thankful for that. She clicked her tongue and stuck it into a bleeding pouch, "What a beautiful eye you have." she mused, "Such a bright orange, a wonderful hue to my collection." she crept away from my bed and licked her fingers then disappeared into a grain of sand. I felt the pain rush to my body as I started to scream, my eye burning from the rush of oxygen and sweat. My mother rushed into the door, horrified. I knew not to trust fairytales. Not to underestimate them.