The Sleepless City

A Story by Strawberry

A short story - winning entry of the 3Elements competition. You can also see it published here: http://mikaelashea.com/3elements.html

Sitting in my apartment, I poured some water out of the steaming kettle into a cup of dry Ramen Noodles. As I replaced the kettle on the stand, I took a deep breath in, enjoying the smell as it diffused to my nose. Leaving the white walled kitchen, I turned into the open living room. The black leather sofa was pushed up against a wall, facing a solitary TV on the centre of the wall opposite. To the side, a French window led onto a small balcony. The New York sky line was illuminated on the other side of the glass, making the night bright and caused this to be the city that never sleeps.

It was 3.12am. I had to get up and go to work in 3 hours, but sleep evaded me. I carried my mug over to the window and leant my head against it, savouring the coolness of the glass panel. I withdrew and the steam from the cup rose and hit the cool window, making it condense. I watched as a single drip rolled down the pane of glass, as though it were a tear. Finally, my attention grew from beyond my own apartment and fixated upon the building opposite. Lights in windows glowed. I was not the only one awake. I looked into the glass, now watching my own reflection. My hair was getting too long, and looked distraught from a hard day pushing paper in a large office complex downtown. It was a bad habit of mine to run my hand through the black mess of hair when I felt stressed. Recently, that was a lot. I turned away from the window, ignoring the black bags under my eyes, and downed the noodles, dumping the used cup on top of the kitchen work surface.

Exhausted, but knowing I would not be able to sleep yet, I wandered into my bedroom. The steel frame glinted when I switched the light on. The grey covers and sheets were wrapped around and unmade from where I tried to sleep earlier, but gave up in frustration after several hours of tossing and turning. On the bedside cabinet, my copy of The Catcher in the Rye, lay open and discarded under a lamp. Even that had not helped me sleep, tonight. The only other furniture in the room was a large oak cabinet. That was my destination. I walked towards it like a zombie, and then opened it to inspect the contents.

It was all there. I took out the large black sports bag filled with my tools for the evening. I left my apartment without bothering to lock the door. Nobody would care enough to steal anything inside. Downstairs and out into the cool night air, I took several deep breaths. The rush of adrenaline which had been slowly building into excitement needed to be calmed. Walking hastily down the one way street, I flagged down a yellow taxi with a bright light marking itself as available. Once inside, I gave the address for work.

I got out of the cab and stretched my legs. The bag felt heavy. My heart beat faster as I approached the building. Ducking into a small alley, where I usually smoke so the boss didn’t see me, I smashed the window and hauled myself through it. Then the fun began. I withdrew a canister of petrol from my bag and began to spread it around the reception area. I made a trail leading into the main office room and elevator. Heat rises, I mused. A fire on the first floor will burn upwards to all the others. Then, all of the other people stuck in these kinds of jobs will thank me for getting them out. I poured what was left around and threw stacks of paper on the floor to help it burn. Lastly, I returned to the window and stood outside. I lit a cigarette and took a drag before throwing it inside the building. A roar told me that the job was done. I threw the bag inside the building and then walked around to the front to admire the effect.

The fire glimmered in my eyes. I grinned. My work was done. The smell of melting plastic reached my nostrils as I pictured the desktop computer than dictated my life dripping into a puddle of grey and the tumultuous piles of paper burning and fuelling the destruction. The sound of the fire alarm rang out in the night as sirens began to echo in the darkness. The smoke rose high in the building. I stepped back to get a better view, noticing that the fire must have already reached the third floor by the flickering light from the window. Then you placed a firm hand on my shoulder. The rest you already know.