If he checked the time again, it would be 4:00 AM. And if it was 4:00 AM, he had already lost.
The clock on the nightstand was a liar. It claimed it was 3:14 AM, but Elias knew better. To him, time had ceased to be a linear progression of minutes and had instead become a thick, suffocating fog. 1. I Can't Go To Sleep
He stared at the ceiling. The shadows cast by the streetlamp outside looked like reaching fingers. Usually, he’d find it creepy, but tonight he just felt a kinship with them. They looked tired, too. "Just sleep," he whispered to the empty room. If he checked the time again, it would be 4:00 AM
His phone sat on the charger, a glowing siren. He knew that if he picked it up, the blue light would finish off whatever remained of his melatonin, but the temptation was a physical ache. He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the screen. It claimed it was 3:14 AM, but Elias knew better
He pulled his hand back and tucked it under the covers. He decided to play a game: he would imagine building a house, brick by brick, board by board. He started with the foundation. He poured the concrete. He laid the first row of bricks.
Did I really tell that barista ‘you too’ when she said to enjoy my coffee? he wondered. The memory burned with fresh intensity.
He tried the breathing exercises. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. By the third round, he wasn't relaxed; he was just hyper-aware of how loud his own lungs were. The house, usually silent, had developed a symphony of taunts. The refrigerator hummed a low, mocking drone. A floorboard in the hallway creaked, suggesting a ghost that was also, presumably, suffering from insomnia.