Sweet Insomnia

A short story by Grant Davis

The clock was ticking unbearably loudly. So loud that I was certain it was keeping me awake. This was nonsense as I had had the clock in the bedroom for many years and had not been aware of its relentless, almost silent progress, marching through the night-time hours till the alarm clock sounded. But tonight I had insomnia. Not that I was an inveterate sufferer of the complaint which divides the world into those that face life renewed each day and those who make sluggish progress from their bed, resenting the wasted night hours and dreading the day. But sometimes it would take me unawares and tonight was such a night. The grind of trying to reach sleep during such episodes was tiring in itself; the exercises, meditation and other quack remedies were proving fruitless. I looked at the illuminated figures of the clock; three oh five a.m. and not a hint of slumber. Not the faintest suggestion of reprieve until Sonia came in from the bathroom . . . 

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