Metro' Short Fiction: Cocoon

I've always talked in my sleep. Ever since I was a little boy. Ever since I could talk. Apparently it runs in the family. I remember by mother complaining over dinner about my father's nocturnal outbursts. I remember being grateful that I was never as bad as he must have been, because as far as I knew my nightly dialogues had never progressed beyond incoherent murmurings. Until recently …