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Monday, March 7, 2005
the insomniac, pt. 2
He was under the covers, peeking his eyes out. The room was wearing darkness. He looked at the digital read on his VCR: it was 4:00 a.m. 4:00 a.m., and he was still up, while most everyone else on this side of the globe slept.
"You'll never get me!" he yelled, prying his eyes out again, looking around his room. "I know you're out there! Might as well go!" What was out there, he didn't know. He felt something's presence.
When he was younger, he was sitting on a curb, rolling a coin along it. He remembers his friend's brother telling him about the devil, and how at night he came to you. He knows now that he was just saying that to be a jackass.
Nonetheless, he had had many sleepless nights where he'd kick, scream, and go giddy with fright, because he swore any moment the devil would walk in, burning red, with horns, and a large, booming voice that would make him cower with fright.
There was no devil here. Whatever presence he felt was either his imagination, or. . .something else.
He looked out there again. He saw nothing. He went back under his covers. Under here it was his own world.
Suddenly, he heard a scuttle. Shocked, he came out of his covers, and accidently hit his bruised leg on the side of the bed while doing so. He winced in pain, holding in his desire to verbalize his pain.
"Who's there?" he yelled. Then, there was a squeak, and the thing was off and running.
He breathed heavy, his heart thudded in his chest. "It was just a - just a mouse."
Being awake so long, he was hypersensitive. "Just a mouse. Calm down. Calm. Down."
His heart stopped thudding so loud, his breath gained some kind of normalcy.
He sat there for a while. Then he got bored again. He eyed the time. It eyed him. 4:24, said the VCR.
It was time for a 4 a.m. snack, he decided. He began walking upstairs cautiously. His eyes panned around everywhere, looking for something, anything hostile. Especially that damn mouse. . .he'd have to buy mouse traps now. That mouse was as good as dead.
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