Insomnia (a short fiction of 184 words)

Sometimes I practise your name so I can say it aloud. Between the tinnitus and the thoughts, it’s a miracle I ever sleep. Anyway. You would have made an excuse if you gave a damn. I don’t even like coffee. Not at home time; that’s wine time. You used to laugh when I said stuff like that. Now, as one step follows the other in the dark, tears stream down my face and I don’t hide them from the headlights.

I need the power back.

I bought ‘Seduction’ the other day. I smiled as I stood in the queue. ‘Cardamom, amber, patchouli, sweet vanilla, musk and amber’. It says ‘amber’ twice. What the hell is patchouli?

I keep meaning to grow a backbone, but then I’ll remember the consequences. When you’re on my mind, I lose myself, as if in a dream. The other night I was pregnant, single, and I lived in an RV – like the one in Breaking Bad – but without meth. In a forest somewhere in Essex. Are there even forests in Essex? Epping, ah yes. The baby bump was so small and disappointing. Disgusting. And then there was the shark. At least dreaming means I’ve slept, if only for a mere fraction of the night. The NightNurse gave up on me some time ago, the Nytol can go fuck itself, and dear old Diazapam turned his back when I needed him the most. The arsing GP refuses to prescribe me with anymore Zopliclone. No Z for ‘zzzz’s. Ha. And I can’t pretend I’m going on yet another long distance flight.

Tomorrow I’ll forget how pathetic I am. Tomorrow I’ll pretend you haven’t broken me.

Three little words.

I miss Valium.

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