Sleepless Slumber

I wrote this in an hour while insomniatic. It isn't great.

 

Sleepless Slumber

                Exhaustion running through my mind like an Ottaman Sipaphi cavalry lancing a battle field on charge. The dominating trample of a thousand hooves beats demanding that I close my eyes and sleep and forget. There is a constant firing of pre-modern firearms setting ringing through my ears as thoughts from the last week flood through my conscious. My body demands of my mind to force sleep into me, and the chemicals of my brain obey, pumping through my glands and into my body to exhaust me further and force my eyes closed.
                I finally rest my eyes and lay my head back, taking in for a brief moment the darkness of the room, the glow of the monitor, and the softly outlined white borders where shadow and artificial light mingle in stillness. The comfort and peace of the setting is accompanied by the gentle hum of the heater keeping the desolate cold of the first true winter month at bay, comforting my body with heat, and my mind with the knowledge I will no longer need to freeze to death.
                Peace and Contentment set gently in as my hand falls back and rests behind the pillow behind my head, too tired to adjust them for further comfort. If were sleeping on cardboard and rocks the sheer magnitude of exhaustion would have tricked my nerve endings to pretend the softest cloud of pure cotton and silk lie below me. The harsh World War Two blanket covering me feels for relaxing and enwrapping than ever, softer than the fibers of the road-side sofa I lie upon.
                I can slowly feel the gentle caress of midnight falling lightly around me. My shoulders slump and I take my final deep breath before the assurance of rest and unconscious relaxation settle deeper into me. I blink, relax my head, and begin to feel the light touch of my hair dangling on my brow. Sleep is finally setting in, and the cares of the day seem to gently melt.
                I wait. I wait longer. I adjust my position and attempt to pull back the feeling of soft silk this blanket had only moment ago felt like. I reposition my hand under the pillows, fluff the pillows, move the pillows. I move my leg up so that only that leg is in the fetal position. I put myself in the entire fetal position. I turn off the monitor.
                I sit up, disappointed. I turn on the monitor and a few clicks later open a playlist of songs that normally put me to sleep. Something on the screen catches my attention and I realize the light haze of the darkness and light has disappeared, and my eyes have adjusted to the light. Sleep feels further away with every blink. The item that caught my attention on the screen pulls up a memory, and so I browse through my pictures folder and dredge through memories forgotten until this moment.
                These memories are not enough, and so I switch the light on and need not even cover my eyes. I open my lock box and browse through pictures and notes and memoirs forgotten to time in the black fire-proof steel. I smile to myself, let a tear fall, and blink heavily, groggily. Sleep feels closer, my body once more screams for it by reminding me how tired my legs are.
                I lie on the couch and the thoughts begin to poor like the blood to my head from the increased heartbeat of the exertion of moving through the room and falling heavily onto the sofa. I toss and turn, pull the covers over my head. I focus on the words of the song.
                “And after all…
                You’re my Wonderwall.”
                Another memory, another smile.
                Hopelessness sets in deeper than the desire to sleep. Worry follows it with what I’ll do for rest in the course of a drudging boring workday.
                I read, I toss, I close my eyes, I read again. Nothing except the weary feeling in my body demanding that the toll of the day be paid. The debt owed to my limbs that I torture daily going unpaid because the payment is not possible. Another part of me feels let down and unfulfilled as I feel the minutes begin to drag slower and slower through time. The passage of time becomes uncanny and acute, the minutes are decided and precise, Each tick of the seconds passing matches the pulse of the veins in my head, my temples throbbing with blood being pumped into an overactive brain.
                I smoke a cigarette, and feel the blood fall away and thin. I feel more tired and more dreary, and my thoughts race harder. I lay my head down and deal with the scratch in my throat, and every minute detail being relayed through my nerve endings. Everything becomes an annoyance, and suddenly anger and aggression flood my vision. Determination accompanies them as a symphony orchestra accompanies a wailing electric guitar. A perfect mix when used right, a drastic failure when the end cannot be met by the means.
                I reach the point where consideration must be taken to whether it is worth attempting to slumber at all. Time, so acute and precise at this moment, is moving fast. Soon it will be time to wake and I will have only just laid my head down once more for an attempt at sleep. Becoming active, making coffee, turning the lights back on, all of these things will only cause me to exert myself and eventually sleep. Now considerations to how to stay awake but not become more tired must be taken.
                I resign myself to simply lie down. The monitor makes a magnetic click as it goes dark, the music suddenly stops with the turn of a knob, and the sudden darkness and silence forces itself into the room. A gentle warm breeze from the heater floats across me before that too falls silent, and the sudden emptiness seems almost pervading.
                I let my thoughts come freely and do not think on them. They touch and feel around my mind like tendrils, wrapping around my conscious and seeping in and out, searching for a response. I give them none. My thoughts become empty, hollow, meaningless pieces of information and recent memory of the day. Mentally and physically I am emotionless. I keep my eyes half open in a relaxed posture, sleep laden and groggy, but awake and alert simultaneously.
                Moments pass. Minutes pass. The silence becomes an awkward, unsettling discomfort that layers around me. I ignore it and relax, letting the thoughts drift slowly through me. I yawn, and the constriction placed on my chest causes a sting of pressure.
                The time passes, and slowly a surreal feeling of contentment begins to permeate through me. Relaxation becomes more comfort than forced action. I ignore the realization for fear of the thought provoked, and continue to allow my mind the emptiness it had. The tendrils of mundane thought fall away, no longer snaking and coiling around my brain for a place to grip.
                Nothingness envelopes me, and a reassurance of rest seems immanent. No longer tired, I am at peace with this. This comfort becomes addicting and I feel myself halfway between the time and space of unconscious and awake. I feel my limbs but forget how to move them. There is a sudden itch on my leg and my reflex to scratch it is made null and void by the inability to work my muscles. I push for a moment before wondering why I was trying to move, and abandon the endeavor.
                Hot piercing pain shoots through my mind. My ears feel raped and harassed by a constant blaring cacophony. Endless repetitive short sounds force their way into my realization so painfully that the sound is as a sharpened knife being plunged through happiness. This sound feels of death. This sound must be destroyed.
                Irritation moves me forward to slam the palm of my hand against the large gray block across the room. The time lights on it in brilliant neon green. Daylight dances playfully along its edges from the tattered shades covering the window nearby, It is morning.
                I yawn and stretch, wondering how long I had slept, if I had slept. Somehow I feel refreshed and fulfilled, and a million tiny thoughts sneak back into my mind. In the haze of waking I make myself coffee and an inkling of a thought comes to the front of my mind as if embarrassed to be noticed. I can feel the thought wearing a shy, apologetic smile before it opens its mouth and speaks..
                WORK!!
                I turn the coffee maker off, and slam the door behind me.

Reviews

[ZakLeonRamsey]

Beautiful. Pretty good. You think that your creative writing isn't half as good on your profile? Your creative writing is 101% brilliant. I think you should keep going, these details you write down are accurate and more than I would expect from an underrated writer such as you, such as me. These little tales you have brought to the web are truly awesome. Keep going, you're doing a good job.