The Night of Sleeplessness

by Dhaval Nayi


Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Good night’s sleep. Sleep. Close the eyes. Shut them tight. Sleep will embrace you then. No thoughts peeking. Naught to worry about. The battle is won; it’s time to rest now. Rejuvenate. Revive. Dream sweet dreams. Shut the eyes. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. The pain creeps in the corners, the pain is always there, stubborn and shameless, always coming back after getting kicked out; the pain crawls and hurts the peace of mind. The alarm goes off. Red. Bloody red. Oh, not again! Not tonight! Haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a long, long, long, so long it can’t be measured long time…The pain spreads out its multi-hands-and-legs and clutches the calmness of the mind. It struggles to survive, the calmness. Oh, it cries, damn it, leave me alone. Sleep. Sleep. Just an inch of sleep, just the tip to begin with and the mountain will be climbed. Sleep and dreams—oh them good ole’ days! Ciao to you past life. The shrieking makes the ears ring, the eyes teary and the nose bleed. Noises. Mute noises and terrible noises and annoying noises too. Somebody get a blaster and shoot those motherfucking noises in the asshole. Everything starts spinning. The whirlpool of darkness commences gobbling up goodnight’s sleep. Sleep. Will it ever arrive? No chance. The peace of mind is gone; the multi-handed-and-legged creature of pain roams through the forehead, stinging it, nibbling at it, and then taking a mouthful of bite out of it. Then when the time of chaos arrives, the hateful people with their equally hated talks come out of their shabby abodes. It’s dark, but they glitter. The contemptuous smiles painted on their damned faces declare the death they will bring. Sleep. Oh, now you can’t sleep. It’s…what time is it? The head is spinning. Sleep. Why can’t you sleep? Carlin. George Carlin. Everything’s shit: the thoughts, the talks, the talkers, the hearers, the watchers, the slaves and the masters, the prayers and the gods, the planets and the galaxies. The plane crashes and people rush out, burning everything. The angels fall from the sky, their wings aflame, and their countenances evil. The higher power is mad, for atheism is spreading like wildfire through His Kingdom. Ha…ha…ha…that was bound to happen. Suddenly the pain subsides; the multi-handed-and-legged creature is nowhere to be seen. Poof! Sleep arrives on the golden chariot. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Oh, how I missed you, darling! The eyes are closing, the upped-heartbeat is calming and the breathing steadies itself…then there’s that voice. What is it saying? Louder please. Did he really say that? He can’t say that. He’s a best friend and best friends say only good about each other. The angels, now wingless and horns sprouting from their foreheads, chuckle, smile, laugh, guffaw. Surprise, brother. He can’t say that; he mustn’t. And if he does, well, he’s just an asshole then, let him rot away, ain’t no point in saving the backstabbing bastard. The multi-limbed creature reappears; the eyes are out, it floats in the air nimbly, making spooky gestures with its many hands and legs. It heads for the abdomen. He should die—if a person can’t take care of his own problems goddammit! how the fuck is he gonna save the dying planet? The severe pain emerges from the pit of the stomach with a gurgling noise and reaches to the heart, paralysing the left side. Death is nigh. Nothing will change if one man dies tonight; the Earth doesn’t stop spinning, does it? Wasted the time. Too much fancying, so little acting. A blister pops, pus comes gushing out, and the sufferer is relieved. This pain too is like a blister; it will go away…with death, aye. Heart failure; heart attack; blocked arteries. The left shoulder aches so much, that’s the symptom. The back aches like hell, too. He is killing him, the invisible man in the sky, for not believing in Him. Puny. Laughing. Crying. Praying too when the consciousness looks somewhere else. The angels dance. They dance the dance of happiness, of being free at last from the bondage of make-believe stuff some putz wrote in some book. The plane crashes. How many times is it going to crash? The Big Bang the mysteries of black holes time travel shiiiiiittttttt…sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Goddammitttt sleepppppp…sleep…Sl…

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