Insomnolence: The Waking Nightmare

 My Report: I haven’t slept in six days. In my, now rare, moments of lucidity, I attempt to reflect on what is to become of me. Not that it is a mystery, I know how the rest of my life will play out. To put it simply, I have the next two weeks to live. However, if I’m lucky, I will only have to endure another week or so of this torture. It is not the what of my condition that concerns me, but how to make the process as painless as possible.

My memory: They found it in the Bask River last year. They assured us that they had found only traces of chemicals linked to Insomnolence, and, to be safe, the Surgeon General issued a recommendation that we use clear case liquid for a while instead of the infested liquid from our inside metal hoses. The Surgeon General told the other people living on the eighth floor of my apartment building and me that the sinks were fine to drink from; for another time, it was safe to drink from the tap again. I threw away the plastic water bottle.

My vision: Yesterday and this morning, I met the Surgeon General, you know, the man who makes all the decisions about how we can water. I meet him because he sits at my kitchen table, on the end of my bed, and in my closet. Looking now, I see his wide smile and eyes, a permanently contorted face, a set of characteristics that brings him closer to the appearance of a demon than that of a man, and he stares at me. Today, he started laughing. He’s laughing at me. He’s looking at me and laughing. I've had enough, so I took my hand and put it through his eyes. But when I put my hand through, the laugh doesn’t go away. Instead, an old man’s sobbing and the sound of the shattering of glass were attached to the chorus of noise.

My confession: I haven't stopped trying to sleep. There is no difference between night and day, so I lie in bed at all hours, except for food, and I hope. But, so far as it is to be, there is no relief nor avail. There is only a bed, a sheet, a pillow, a blanket, and a brain that has lost its ability to lose power temporarily. Stuck in these walls eternally.

My Report (Day 7): I saw the smiling man 10 minutes ago. His laugh was deafening, like always, but now he can move. He used to be able to go from place to place without walking, but now, he moves as he should. He ran up to me, but I had a greater capacity for speed. But I can hear him opening our bathroom window and struggling to climb out. He can not get away with what he has inflicted on me. Today, I will follow him out the window to realize my revenge.