A small body sitting up in a large bed. Back of the head leaning on the headboard. Hair a mess, coarse and wild. Fetal position, arms hugging thin legs. Eyes open, pupils moving, otherwise still.
A harsh, exhausted laugh, a loaded sigh, and eyelids slide closed. Shoulders relax, but not completely, chest moves steadily. Arms stay rigid around legs. Legs stay rigid under arms.
The house is quiet. Decidedly unusually so.
Artificial light, harsh and alien green, pierces through the dark from the digital clock sitting on the driftwood desk. Just past 2. Alarm was set for 5. Bedtime was at 11. Hypnos, however, had stubbornly stayed away. Sleep was simply out of reach.
Loneliness is closer. Easier to grasp. The bed is large. The body is small, and singular.
Pupils dart behind the lids. A clumsy but also somehow graceful forward motion with the head, bringing eyes to knees. Blood vessels compress and fireworks blaze. Retinas react, occipital lobe intercepts. Hypothalaus complains.
Soreness in the muscles of the abdomen. Anterior cingulate cortex begs them to release, relax. They want the same, but can't. Lymbic system says no. Fear and nerves and fatigue are trapped behind, and must stay.
Lifting of eyes, one cracks open, other stays shut. Thoughts of tomorrow, or, rather, today. Car to drive, scalpel to use. Scrubs to wear and hair to brush. People to see. Amygdala protests at that least one, a particular person sharply filling thoughts.
A swallow and top row of teeth slip over bottom lip and bite. Lightly suck. Slight comfort, but still no sleep.
Clock flashes again. Light cleanly fractures the darkness. 3 on the dot.
A skinny arm darts out, one eye remains closed. Body tilts. Just past the bed, a metal drawer handle is pulled, and a rustly silver package is retrieved. Tiny noises resonate in the silence. A small round pill is popped out of the foil- a gunshot in the quiescent room. Slight hesitation followed by another.
Swallowed with ease. 50 milligrams of Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride. A horrible friction- carpet burn- works through the pharynx and larnx, sensation disappearing at the oesophagus.
Drowsiness begins, and relief. Thanks from the drained body.
Lower back slides down sheets, a small hands drags the cumbersome duvet over her frail bony frame, envlopping up to the nose. Head is turned to the side, open eye forced closed in preparation for the imitation sleep.
Waiting. Toes struggle for heat underneath the ample covers, cold sweat on the bottoms.
A last glimpse of black stubble and blue eyes, a last earful of velvety voice and full laughter, and that was it.
Muscles released and feeling invaded the body, stopped quickly in its tracks by the drugs. Toes uncurled, bottom lip released from it's prison, shoulders sink into the matress.
Sickly green glow emmenated from the clock on the desk, switching sluggishly from one number to the next, steady pace of seconds rivaling that of the heavy chest lying beside it.
Behind the eyelids, pupils are still.
Yeah I'm not really sure what this is, or what the point of it is, but I kind of like it. So, uh, yeah.