Insomnia Gothic

Humour_InsomniaSleep, slee, sle, slightly annoyed I can’t fall asleep

By Davie Wong, Sports Editor


Your eyes flutter open to the sight of nothing. It’s dark. So dark. You reach over and unlock your phone once again. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done this.

You check the time. Damn. It’s 4 a.m. You crawled in bed two hours ago, determined to get some sleep before daybreak, yet now here you still are.

You wiggle around on your bed while browsing your Facebook feed. It hasn’t updated since you last checked five minutes ago, and there are no comfortable spots on the bed.

You toss your phone aside in frustration. It slides off the bed. You roll over to grab it, and just as you do, you find it. You find the spot. The most comfortable spot imaginable. The spot that will carry you to sleep like a Valkyrie carries the souls of tired warriors off to Valhalla. But you haven’t picked up your phone yet. You’re going to have to move.

You groan as you lean over and pick your phone up. It’s unharmed, you think. You toss it on the nightstand and return to the comfy spot. But it’s gone. Like a traveling circus, the comfortable spot has picked up and left.

You feel the tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your mouth closes and you realize it was just a yawn. Maybe the satisfying release of a cold pillow will caress you into the night. You lay upon your pillow. It’s warm. Your roll side to side, unable to find the comfort you so desire.

Maybe a pillow flip is the answer. One last, desperate Hail Mary into an end-zone of dreams. You turn the pillow over and fall upon it, eager for its cool touch and welcoming shock. You land upon a cooler, yet still warm pillow. You flash back just 15 minutes earlier. You recall turning over the pillow in hopes of a dreamier future. A future that will never come.

You pick the pillow up, hands shaking, and hurl it to the side. It disappears into the darkness. There is no satisfying thump. Just the sound of scrambling. You must have hit the cat. Good job.

Unsure if your feline friend is now plotting your death should you ever drift into the abyss of sleep, you lay back on your now pillow-less bed. It’s cool. It’s nice. It’s welcoming.

You pull your cover above your head and let out a sigh of relief. The cover is a bit too warm. Too heavy. Like something has just sat down upon it. You begin to panic as you realize, too late, that someone or something is trying to suffocate you to death. Your mind scrambles for options, tries to find a way out of this helpless suffering, but your body fades into the darkness.

Sleep has taken you now, child. Strangely enough, it smells like your cat.