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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #1618327
Response to "Daily Flash Fiction" prompt 11/14, "Write about someone who has insomnia".
The ever constant drone of the fan rushes through my ears like a waterfall spilling from the heights of heaven.  The water will eventually become a tranquil body, leaving no evidence of the turmoil that once was.  It will exude peace; be at rest. 

What is peace?  I cannot remember!  Peace eludes me.  The angry red numbers on my torturous alarm clock scream out at me in their snail-like progression.  Why can’t I sleep!  What am I doing wrong?

Is sleep a learned habit that can be forgotten?  Has my brain somehow misplaced the “Handbook to a Great Night’s Sleep”? 

“Sorry.  I do not prescribe sleeping pills.  You need natural sleep.  Try drinking hot chamomile tea before bed… or a warm bath to relax you!  That always works for me…”

Stupid doctors!  Guess there is no harm in trying the warm bath again…  At least I can leave the antagonizing crimson numbers to do their damage alone.

Ahh, the water is so warm, inviting even.  I can feel some of the tension melting out of my pores, swirling heavily to the bottom of the deep garden style tub in which I lay weightless.  My eyelids creep lower over offensive, ever alert orbs.  My thoughts are getting hazy; my limbs growing weaker.  Ugh, the damn water is cold now!

Opening my eyes, I see…those God forsaken scarlet numbers!  They torture me so!  They seem to cut through the water, dancing to the bottom like lovers embracing.  I cannot escape them.  A childlike giggle lazily escapes from my slightly parted lips.  I think, “They… won’t be… for long…”.

My thoughts are now lost, as are the numbers, as the last of my life seeps from my veins into the overflowing tomb of water.  The sleep that once evaded me is now eternal.
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