Online Story

I suppose the following story would be
classed as speculative fiction. So, my
friends, be my guests and speculate to
your little hearts content!  

I hope you enjoy:


Confession of an Insomniac
by Emma Ennis

My mind races like a computer's central processing unit. I want so badly to sleep, and have wanted to for five hours and thirty eight minutes now. Last night had been a good night; I had bagged a whole three hours, back to back. But tonight I am not so lucky.
            My muscles ache, my skin feels like it has been ironed with a million tiny needles. I can feel the cortisol build up in my body, and I know that if it goes on much longer my future will be riddled with depression, stress, heart disease, and various other insomnia-induced delights.
            My brain wants to rest, to encode the events of the day and file them to memory. It wants sleep, but sleep will not come. It was Shakespeare who wrote sleep ‘knits up the ravelled sleave of care.’ If this is the case, then my sleeve is fast unravelling.
I think about the fact that I have not driven in months - I don't trust myself. I tell a minor lie when I say I have not slept. I have done my homework. I know it is almost impossible for a human being to experience complete sleep deprivation. After just twenty-four hours, when the brain decides enough is enough it automatically shuts down, and the sufferer slips into a microsleep. These phenomena do not prejudice over time or place, and can last for anything up to half a minute. A short space in time, when weighed against the magnitude of my tiredness, but still time enough to do an awful lot of damage behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.
            I have already passed through the various stages once this night. The first, hope. In this stage I lie in the darkness, still with the foolish belief that this time, it will work. After some hours come the irritability spikes - stage two. I have remade the bed twice now, and pounded the pillows so hard that sharp feather ends poke through the stitching, jabbing my fevered skin.
            Next come the tears and the pitiful, snot-ridden begging - please let me sleep; can't I just sleep? Now, I am just numb. I lie on my back, the covers folded neatly around me, my hands crossed over my chest, and cycle through the tricks of the insomniac’s trade.
            I have counted sheep, and numbers themselves. I have pictured a black velvet curtain, falling before my eyes, but some unseen hand kept sweeping it aside. So I painted instead. I imagined lashing thick layers of ebony emulsion over the window to my thoughts. But the rain came, and washed the paint away.
            I picture a single, tiny point in the universe and try to focus on it, but my deceitful mind creates a black hole that sucks me in to thrash around among my flurrying thoughts. 
            I almost fell asleep when I thought of you. 

1 comment:

  1. Hey I remember this!! I see you may have done some editing. Me, I hid my story away for awhile with the comments attached. Maybe one day, I'll bring it before me again and redo it. Talk with you soon.