Sleep of the Broken

With a finger he traced the fractures that spidered across the broken display of his iPhone. Broken, but still functional. Like him. The distorted reflection of his face twisted into a grimace. Putting the phone down he reached for the glass of water he knew waited for him on his night stand. Glass in one hand, he snapped two pills out of their plastic and foil encapsulation and chugged them down along with the water in the glass. They were weak, not enough to defang the beast and barely enough to make it sleep. Sleep would come for him too, eventually, but he craved it with reluctance – desire born out of necessity.

Closing his eyes he summoned the residue of a familiar dream. It played before his mind’s eye like a partially corrupted file. Static and scattered images here and there. What it was about it he found so comforting he didn’t quite know. Perhaps it was nothing more than white noise to drown out all thoughts and hints of pain. Not having to listen to his complaining body was as good an excuse as any, he supposed as he turned over to lie on his good side.

A bedroom window stood partially open not far from where he lay. The wind murmured its usual winter lullaby as it stepped through between frame and windowsill. Half asleep he stirred, annoyed even in his delirium that he had to get up again. Groggy, he rose and made his way toward the bathroom.

Sleep would come eventually, but not quite yet. Sleep would come.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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