Insomnolence

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Abstract

ar-olda lone tear escapes the high security prison she’s installed in her eyes and makes a bid for freedom; its hopes dashed as a vigilant hand brushes it awaytrying to distract herself from her thoughts, she looks down into the street below. the pavement almost empty, the streets thronging with cars carrying the midnight shift at the nearby call center in sullen getawaysthe cars pass in a monotonous parade, sheep to sheepthe empty street yearns for company, its palpable loneliness making it creepier than a graveyard in a foggy nighttime passes; the street and her commiserate each othersoft yellow rays start fighting with the noxiously xanthic streetlights, as the street’s wishes come true; a band of early morning workers, shoulders bowed with sleep, relegate movement to muscle memory, shuffle slowly into the maw of the corporate jungle<p

Options

id="db60">a man turns the corner into the street, carrying his world in his arms, in the space his eyes can rest on. the wave of pedestrians parts in a single fluid motion to let him throughnone meet his eyes as he walks confidently over the broken bits of the footpath, faltering on the straight ones, declaiming to the world in a language only he understandshe passes the corner. the space behind him is quickly filled, his world snuffed in a few footstepsshe remembers the left-over food in the fridge and thinks about running down the street to the man — he’d looked famished.her alarm rings; she wakes from her musings, puts on the raiment of workdays; numb; nothing left but work; she makes her way down to the streetdespite their long conversation last night, neither greets the other© <a href="undefined">Indira Reddy</a> 2019</article></body>

Experimental narrative

she groans exasperatedly at a body that refuses to relax into the grip of sleep even as the poisons of the day weaken joints, muddy the mind

she opens the curtains, welcomes the life outside in; anything to get rid of the emptiness of an apartment, which a few hours before, was bustling with life

she misses them already, wishes she didn’t have to work this weekend

she remembers their chubby hands waving goodbye as she stood by the window, her heart flying out of her chest and into the uncertain grasp of her three-year-old

a lone tear escapes the high security prison she’s installed in her eyes and makes a bid for freedom; its hopes dashed as a vigilant hand brushes it away

trying to distract herself from her thoughts, she looks down into the street below. the pavement almost empty, the streets thronging with cars carrying the midnight shift at the nearby call center in sullen getaways

the cars pass in a monotonous parade, sheep to sheep

the empty street yearns for company, its palpable loneliness making it creepier than a graveyard in a foggy night

time passes; the street and her commiserate each other

soft yellow rays start fighting with the noxiously xanthic streetlights, as the street’s wishes come true; a band of early morning workers, shoulders bowed with sleep, relegate movement to muscle memory, shuffle slowly into the maw of the corporate jungle

a man turns the corner into the street, carrying his world in his arms, in the space his eyes can rest on. the wave of pedestrians parts in a single fluid motion to let him through

none meet his eyes as he walks confidently over the broken bits of the footpath, faltering on the straight ones, declaiming to the world in a language only he understands

he passes the corner. the space behind him is quickly filled, his world snuffed in a few footsteps

she remembers the left-over food in the fridge and thinks about running down the street to the man — he’d looked famished.

her alarm rings; she wakes from her musings, puts on the raiment of workdays; numb; nothing left but work; she makes her way down to the street

despite their long conversation last night, neither greets the other