Insomnia and other tragedies.

A collection of people, places, emotions, and ideas. A Novel made of short stories.

I was sprawled out back down on the bed, both my arms and legs dangling off at the corners of my Beautyrest mattress. Bruce had been purring soundly in between my knees for the last hour and a half while I attempted to drown out the sounds of the passing traffic rattling my bedroom windows. I only had a few more precious hours of night left until my alarm would be jarring me out of what was almost guaranteed to be yet another short and dreamless sleep. My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark but besides the occasional beam from a pair of headlights I couldn’t focus on much other than just skimming the pop-corned ceiling for random imperfection in the pattern. Unimportant conversations and faces from earlier in the day were sloshing around my brain like dirty dishwater, dull and grey and each one less distinguishing than the one before.  I pulled myself up onto my elbows and slid the book I had placed to block out the red glow of the alarm clock out of the way. 3:47 am glared back at me, reducing the diameter of my pupils enough that the room darkened around the edges, making any details I could make out before now nearly impossible to focus on. I shifted my legs out from around Bruce’s sleeping body and watched as he yawned and stretched, flexing his claws in and out. Before laying his head back down on the bedspread he opened up one yellow-green eye at me as if to say, “Go back to bed crazy ass.”  Even Bruce, whose entire species is nocturnal, could easily manage to put in a couple solid hours of sleep during the night hours.

To be continued.

The End

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