by Sparks In Shadow

Photo by Ré Harris


My insomnia wasn’t serious to him. He said I chose it – not in the sense that we’re each master of our own fates, not psychological theory replacing empathy.

He said, “Lay your head on the pillow. Go to sleep. Stop going on about it.”

I thought I’d been going on despite it.

He noted words slurred, facts forgotten, laughter at inappropriate times, like any friend would, but without caring why. I would’ve hated him, but without slumber, everything was hard.

That we stopped speaking was surreal, like having the strangest dream. Like party hats on pigs … like pillows with teeth …


The prompt was slumber from 100 Word Challenge at Velvet Verbosity.