A Nonending Night.

 

Insomnia is a sleep disorder in which you have trouble falling and/or staying asleep.

The condition can be short-term (acute) or can last a long time (chronic). It may also come and go.

Acute, so it’s a not a big deal, happens all the time, Insomnia is a very common thing. Hyperactive, you say? High-functioning insomniac.

Then there were 5, Maybe I should work out after dark . Then 10, Again, no big deal.

 

 

And before you know it, there were a billion.

 

 

 

Big leap, isn’t it? Unfortunately, for us, humans and other creatures tend to wait until the last pathetic minute before taking any cautionary action. So that’s how it all started

, Insomnia on a worldwide basis, Scientists called it ‘Evolution 2.0’. Capitalists viewed it as being ethical to force kids, acne-prone teenagers and women workers to operate 24/7.

 

Religious cults proclaimed it as judgment day’s final warning. Cheesy tabloids labeled it ‘Ever Wondered What Billie Eilish Does With Her 24-Hours? Check out page 18!”

Influencers are using it to get views and 5 minutes of fame.

 

 

 

 

It’s beautiful, fascinating and absurd what people chose to focus on.

 

 

 

 

So that’s how it was. Sleep deprivation metastasizing through every crumb of our continents till it left us upright and alert. Much to our surprise, we all found that we could function very well without sleep. Much to our demise, we clearly had no idea on what to do with our “wakefulness ".

 

Chaos kissed each corner of our streets and granted us no mercy. Strangers clawing at their skin until it resembled halved grapefruits, reports of parents murdering their shrieking children, grown men pleading with inanimate saints to bring their sleep back. Suicide rates tripled. Every corner you turned, it seemed the world all carried the same question: What do we do with our 24 hours, and how can we make it brief?

 

 

That’s when Insonomore came to the rescue! I say this, my chest heavy with bullshit. It was the people’s savior, even if it meant sacrificing their autonomy. By getting a bunch of chiseled actors that money can buy in crisp lab coats, they managed to delude us into thinking their tiny pink pills could bring back our ability to sleep.

People went crazy, its pink so it must be effective. Over a billion sold in its first week.

 

 

 

 

Governments made it their mission to restore our sleep because they are fully aware the less we sleep the more dangerous we are. Pumping out fingernail sized pills and making it accessible. In over 3 years, 5 billion people were taking Insonomore but that wasn’t good enough, it never was, it will never be .

 

 

 

 

They soon resorted to sprinkling the cotton candy tinted pills into our drinks, perfumes, anything you could inhale or ingest. Until it didn’t matter if you were taking it knowingly or unknowingly, it was inside you, hidden in every crevice of your body, It became a part of you. Until everyone had deluded themselves into thinking the insomnia was just a short-lived phase we all collectively went through and got over by prayers by support groups. Like a battery that just needed to be replaced. But the 1% knew the truth, they always did. Now peace has been restored.

 

 

 

 

My phone buzzes, Right on schedule. I look down, it’s Jenny.

 

 

 

FROM: Jenny 19:54

 

Heyyy. Just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight? We’ve only got 2 hours left.

:) xx

 

I looked at the message with a frown. I had forgotten those garbage pills caused the whole world to collectively sleep at the same time. Insonomore aside, it was always 10:36PM on the dot. I’d applaud their meticulous work if I wasn't so disgusted by it. Lights out by 10PM, what are we? Seven?

 

 

 

 

Yeah, we are. 8Ball, right? I’ll be heading there now.

 

 

 

 

FROM: Jenny 20:07

 

 

 

See you there :)

 

 

 

 

I gathered my belongings, and walked out to the street. The sun was forming a bruise. The roads carried a gentle murmur as I headed towards the bar. It’s logo,   shockingly, was an 8Ball, and written under : “GET LUCKY!”

 

 

 

 

I walked inside, ordered my usual drink and found a booth. She always liked booths. Before laying down my belongings, I heard a loud thump across me. I looked up to find    Jenny slouched, her curly hair nearly covering her eyes. Today she was wearing a blue parka and a golden necklace.

 

“Would it kill you to pick a time in the morning?” She said, grinning.

“Would it kill you to get a haircut?” I replied.

 

 

 

 

She responded by throwing peanuts at me.

 

 

 

 

“Besides, what’s the rush? We’ve got all the time in the world” I continued, cracking open the shell. She and I both knew we don’t operate within the same hours.

 

 

 

 

“Sure we do.” She said sarcastically, examining the bar “I have no idea how you could enjoy a place so dim”

 

 

 

 

“This is the only place that doesn't-”

 

 

 

 

“Put Insonomore in their food or drinks. I feel like you’ve mentioned this a thousand times!” She said laughing, “You know, it doesn’t hurt to try it out again.”

 

 

 

 

“It feels like we had this conversation a thousand times because we have.” My gaze hardening. “But I’ll pass on the bedtime. How’s work?” I cracked a smile, knowing she’ll go on a melodramatic rant.

 

 

 

 

Jenny’s always been a sweetheart. She sees the best in people. Sometimes I feel like if I'm around her long enough, her goodness will rub off on me. Sometimes.

“Work’s a nightmare.” She pantomimed the waitress for the same drink as me. “Jonathan had to get married – Imagine ,in this economy, and now I’ve got twice the workload cause he had to go to Dubai for his honeymoon.”

 

 

 

 

“The nerve of him.”

 

 

 

 

“Right? His wife was going insane for a while, trying to find boxes of Insonomore before the flight because – and I quote, ‘We don’t know what those uncivilised people put in their pills over there.’ can you imagine?”

 

 

 

 

“Raging orientalist decides to travel to a country filled with said Orientals. What could go wrong?”

 

 

 

 

“Exactly! God. Aside from living in the 16th century, what’ve you been up to?”

 

 

 

 

“16th century? I’m 21, Jenny. I would’ve already been married and dead at 17 with 5 kids to spare if that were the case.”

 

 

 

 

Jenny burst out laughing. She had the kind of laugh that starts out low and ends with the walls of the room booming. “Alright, Fair enough! You’re just a simple man that abstains from the Pink Boogie Man.”

 

 

 

 

I clasped my heart as though offended, “Is that really what you think of me?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve just never met someone so vehemently repulsed by something they used to take everyday.”

 

 

 

 

“I’ve lived this long without it, might as well keep going. Besides, if I started again, then I’m no better than a junkie.”

 

 

 

 

My body went stiff. Shit. How could I forget? How could I be so stupid?

 

 

 

 

“It’s his anniversary today, isn't it? I should’ve known today was different. I’m so  sorry-”

 

 

 

 

“Don’t.” she interrupted me. “You didn’t mean it in that way.”

 

 

 

 

I held her hand across the table. “That doesn’t make what I said okay.”

 

 

 

 

She was only 13. She thought he was just playing dead, like their dog would. He’d always play these jokes on her. How was she to know he was overdosing?

 

 

 

 

“He always used to tell me, ‘Daddy’s going to his happy place now.’” She’d say, her fingers glued to her mouth.

 

It wasn’t until her mother got back from her shift and found Jenny playing with her fathers stiff body, did she realize that something went terribly wrong. She always wondered how someone could be alive one second and be gone in a flash. She imagined his death as though God pointed a shaky finger and simply touched the wrong human, in her childlike mind she thought surely this was a mistake. That God meant to do this to another. Everyone makes mistakes, surely even Him?

 

 

 

 

Those first sleepless nights were pure hell, she’d tell me. All she’d ever hear were her mother’s screams, that long night at the hospital and the funeral song that wouldn’t stop playing in her head. I can’t lie; those pills did have their advantages.

 

 

 

 

She shook off my grip and looked at her phone. 10:02 PM

 

 

 

 

“It’s getting late. I’ve only got half an hour left. Walk me home?”

 

 

 

 

“You never liked it when I’d offer to walk you home.” I caught myself saying. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

 

 

 

 

“I know.” She eyed me nervously “But tonight’s different. I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. At least not right now.”

 

 

 

 

Asking for help was never Jenny's strong suit, but then again is it anyone's? People think power is strength, but I think it takes more courage to admit weakness. To admit that there is a faulty hardware in our system and that we can only fix it if we display that vulnerability. And I respected her for it. I could never be that strong.

 

 

 

“Let’s go.” So I paid, and off we went.

 

It was a chilly December. The air clinging to our bodies and shocked us with every step. Jenny, ever so prepared, pulled out her beanie and placed it over her head.

Completely covering what little was left of her brown eyes. I found myself shivering not because of the cold, but because I had never walked her home before. It’s the uncertainties that terrify us.

 

 

 

 

“You know,” She said, her smile fading “You remind me of my dad. I don’t know, h-he always went on these long tirades. I never felt like I was a little kid when he’d have these talks with me.” She put on a raspy voice “You know what every man has, Jenny? His own personal God. Mine just happens to be this happy medicine.”

 

 

 

 

I kept my eyes on her. She’d never spoken much about her father. I’d merely plucked out bits of information she’d gracefully thrown at me like bread crumbs, until I was able to form an – albeit spotty– trail. It was as though the mere mention of his existence was like spitting out venom.

 

 

 

 

“I used to think that shit was cool as a kid.” She scoffed. “Like god would tear tiny pieces of himself and hand it to humans. It is cool if you think about it. It’s a nice idea

– that something heavenly was given just for you. Until I thought about it the other way round. That the devil rips out pieces of you until you find yourself completely foreign to all the things that housed your body. You’re almost positively sure that you were in one piece at some point. But what use is it now when you’re hollow?”

 

 

 

 

She kept her gaze on the orange lamp posts, her voice growing soft. “Hard to believe I ever respected that man.”

We passed by a graffiti design she’d mentioned before. Indicating that we’re getting closer to her apartment. I wanted to say something. That perfect sentence that would undo everything up until the moment she was 13, where her father would just go to his happy place and come back to earth. But life isn’t like that, and sometimes you can’t undo things no matter how bad you want to. I realize that sometimes letting people speak can be – in a sense undoing some parts of those bad things .Even  just a little, and that’s good enough for any of us.

 

 

 

 

“Tell me more about your father.” I managed to reply.

 

 

 

 

“My dad was a lousy thief. It was like he had an expiration date permanently stamped on his forehead the minute he picked up those needles. If it wasn’t heroin, it would’ve been the cops. He'd rob anything with stable concrete or legs. He told me once that 3AM is when most people are at their weakest. Always sleep deprived. They’d give you their kidney if it meant they could just go home and sleep.” She laughed, without any hint of emotion. “how pathetic.”

 

 

 

 

“I’ll never forget this one day.” She continued. “He just hit a lick – Got us a shit ton of noodles, I always liked that cancer in a can – And he sat me down and said, "Everyone steals, Jenny. You think people out there are getting the things they deserve? Hell no. They're either scamming or getting scammed. It's a system and everyone's got their contract with society. Mine? I steal. If I get caught, then I'll go to jail. If I don't, then as long as I'm concerned I earned every cent of that money. The world's a cruel place princess, and you can only survive if you're just as cruel or worse. And everyday you’re tested.” and two years later he dies.”

 

 

 

 

We reach with 10 minutes to spare until it’s lights out. For now, the lights inside her apartment are soft. The air pinching our eyes until all we could do is squint.

“Everyday I wonder if he would’ve gotten better or worse if he continued living. Everyday. Sometimes I feel like he never died and he just transported his body onto mine. I mean for God’s sake, look at me. I’m wearing his shitty necklace, and – and I’m taking his bullshit ‘happy medicine’ in a different form.” She said, sadness clawing at every feature of her beautiful brown face.

 

 

 

 

I stare into her watery eyes. Now’s your chance, moron. Hold her tight. Tell her. Explain that you feel like you’ve known her for a hundred years and you’d gladly spend a hundred more. That you know exactly how she feels. To want normalcy but instead be forced to stand in the outer edges of society. To want to participate, but just don't know how to. Just tell her.

 

 

 

 

“I don’t want to remember this night.” She pulls out the pink pill and pops it in her mouth. “When we see each other again, Just spare me the – the embarrassment and pretend this never happened.”

 

 

 

 

And I always do. Every night.

 

 

 

Insomnia is a sleep disorder in which you have trouble falling and/or staying asleep.

The condition can be short-term (acute) or can last a long time (chronic). It may also come and go.

Acute, so it’s  not a big deal, happens all the time, Insomnia is a very common thing. Hyperactive, you say. High-functioning insomniac.

Then there were 5, Maybe I should work out after dark . Then 10, Again, no big deal.

 

 

And before you know it, there were a billion.

Mohammed ISMAILI