Insomniac

Do you know what it feels like to have absolutely nothing? Not wealth, not education, not peace, no anything? Of course, you don’t.

You do not know how it feels to just stare at the sky and watch the day die and the next one start. I know. And I can’t stay awake for much more to go by.

My species went extinct eons ago. I think it was the time when the world was on a rave search for alternative fuel. In the attempt to make use of the best thing they could find, they accidentally so, eradicated my entire species. Not that we were a lot in the world, but we sure did consume a part of the world. And for the one unfortunate day that I acted against my convention, against my norm, I woke up to find my world gone. I am an insomniac. An insomniac, in a world that powers itself on sleep. I meant ‘sleep’, quite literally.

Our cells are furnished with food, every day and in order to cut the costs on that, they kill us if we don’t recover in 24 months. The cells beside me once had people. The noises amused me. I would try and decipher what they did, based on the muffled sound they’d made. But soon enough, my one source of entertainment was gone. They’d be drugged or brainwashed and eventually released. I recall Jonathan say that the death rate of my friends in such kind is higher than 95%. Jonathan is my doctor. He is a whimsical, wrinkled, witty old man who comes to visit me each day. He talks to me about life in general and particular for exactly 23 minutes, notes it down on a little pad and leaves promptly. Ultimately, each man provides his own power, even a doctor. The nurses sleep during the day and so, they come for me in the evenings.

With the wholesome conspiracy of population overgrowth, there was an immense demand for sleep suppliers. Men with power are men with wealth. Some got greedy and outsource their power. Sometimes I turn on the TV to watch drowsy news reporters give a detail of how the world goes by under of Mr Laggard, the supreme leader, the wealthiest man on the planet. He is known to sleep 18 hours a day and take power naps for 15 minutes every hour in the next 6. No wonder, the wealthiest, I’d say. Maybe he even has a few of those grid farms, Jonathan showed me once.

A man wasn’t meant to sleep under a burning sky but the world now does. Some sleep in the evenings, slowcoaches sleep into the mornings, but most are like the families far below. The families were offered cash or even the chance to sleep off a few starry nights. And in return, their loved ones would have to be left blissful in their comas and be taken to the grid farms.

People like me are one in a country. I was conscious. I was a drain on the grid. A constant, waking drain. They’d show me my debts. The doctors in their white coats nod along with each expense, explaining what it would be like if I don’t change. If I don’t sleep. And so we’re left inside a cell that plays video clips of kaleidoscopes on all sides. On Sundays, they allow us the privilege of choosing an animal. They let the animal jump over fences, all day, on the screen. I wouldn’t call it a torment. I would call it exactly what it is. A prison.

Today was different. When I finished my sixth cup, I realized the dramatic influence the day was going to have on me. I held an unusual sense of calm. I climbed to the top of the tower. The lock on my cell broke long before the recent shortage. They fixed it, once, twice, then they gave up and now there’s just a breeze block leaning beside it to keep it propped open. The ledge wasn’t high. Just a low concrete wall and a drop to the runway below. I could never sleep when I wanted to. And now, with the prospect of uninterrupted sleep ahead of me, I wanted only to stay awake. I knew that if I slept today, I would wake up a decade later, with the market prices permitting, and be right back to where I was.

I stepped onto the ledge. My sparsely tied gown caught the cool of the morning mist. Up there, I can see the entire city. The lights are bright in that pre-dawn darkness. All the sleepers, all the happy families living on the grid. All of these people, they’d wake up in a few hours. Go on with their lives. And then sleep once more only to rise and repeat. To supply and survive. But not me. I took the one step that I needed to and slept a free man.