Sleepless
That night I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t a rare occurrence: insomnia has accompanied me since high school. At first I used to spend sleepless nights studying; then I noticed that the choice of whether I was going to sleep or not was taken from me.
But I digress. Usually, when I cannot sleep, I read a book. When that fails, I watch TV or surf the web. But it was a hot summer night, and even with the air conditioner on (the electricity bill was going to be a bitch, I swear) I had this idea fixed in my brain: an ice cream.
An ice cream. Yes, I could blame a simple ice cream for all that happened afterwards. But in the end, of course, the poor ice cream had nothing to do with it: I am the one to blame, for the moment I thought about it, I couldn’t take it out of my mind.
I knew the spot: the 24-hour petrol station three streets down. I knew the flavour: banana hazelnut. My brain was already activating my taste buds.
You see, I still had a chance. I’m pretty stubborn, and regardless of my recalcitrant insomnia, I had decided to at least try and relax. I could have saved myself. But no: it was late in the night, or more accurately early in the morning, when my gluttony won over my stubbornness (both of them wonderful personality traits to have, I can assure you) and I found myself walking down the street, daydreaming -only it was really nightdreaming- of my banana hazelnut ice cream.
There was a full moon, already falling towards the horizon. I’ve always liked the moon and the faint light it gives when it’s full. Not for the first time, I considered taking up astronomy as a hobby. One field of knowledge where my insomnia would be an asset.
Mind you, I’m not the kind of person who perceives those things, but I did notice the night was specially quiet. No night birds, no crickets. No cats in the distance. Damn, I heard no cars either.
I felt a pang of fear, followed by a spark of shame. But I decided to increase my pace anyway. Who did it hurt? Ahead of me, I could already see the neon lights from the petrol station. They even had a few of those small coffee tables for motorists to stop for a rest. I could always take up one and wait for the morning.
It was not to be.
The attack was so swift there was nothing I could do. I know now there was indeed nothing I could have done. There was just a tiny moment of pain, followed by nothing. Not at all what one expects.
Thus my life as I had known it till then ended, and I became a creature of the night.
The problem, you see, is that some traits do carry over, and there’s really no way to know which ones. In my case, together with my good looks and eternal love of sarcasm, I took my insomnia with me.
Oh no.
Because now I was supposed to rest by day and… well, roam by night. Or something equally disgusting. Life is, in some senses, easier once you’ve been changed. You’re taken care of, at least at first. But not all things are good: things like not sleeping well, while not unheard of, are a royal pain in the ass.
I cannot walk under the sun. A pity, since I have always loved the sun. And the beach. And it’s simply not the same at night. I digress again. Sunlight is toxic for me, I was saying. Not a problem when you’re supposed to be fast asleep when the day arrives. But me? Oh no, not me. Supernatural being or not -albeit new, I agree-, I could sleep as well by day as I used to by night. But I cannot walk in the sun. Such is my predicament.
After the initial readjustment days, I started looking for places where I could stay by day. I naturally gravitated towards the Library. In this day and age, the dead tree book still has its appeal, and people kept all kinds of odd hours there. Add the lack of windows in many rooms, and I was really happy with my choice.
That’s how I met Eloise. It was unavoidable, since she was one of the librarians. Specifically, the one in charge of the night shift, since she had been the last one to start working at the library. She didn’t seem to mind: she liked us, her evening crowd. I noticed the vague interest she demonstrated for the not so tall, definitely not dark at all stranger. I wondered where she had been my whole life, then thought I sounded like a ridiculous soap opera plot, and concluded she had been right here, in the library, the building I could not leave by nights.
Of course, she noticed. My erratic behaviour betrayed me, or perhaps it was the way I walked, always avoiding the most illuminated rooms and keeping to the shadows. Or how I kept my black garments on, no matter the heat, and never seemed to sweat. Or any other of the myriad small details.
Who knows.
But Eloise didn’t mind my condition. To my surprise, she felt even a little bit excited by it. And so, we started going out. She waited until it was dark, then I’d leave the building and join her for… let’s say some drinks. She did have those drinks. One thing led to another, as it’s sometimes the case. It was, this time. The case.
Now I’m happy with my… let’s call it life. When she sleeps and I cannot, I watch her. I like to see her breathing. I like to feel the blood pumping from her heart. I love to see her stir and open her eyes, and the way she looks at me.
But I still miss that ice cream.
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This is my entry for this week’s Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge: Insomnia.
I considered and discarded several concepts, then came up with this idea that involves a weird insomniac. As usual, I tried to give it a twist. And I also tried my hand at a touch of bitter humour.
