“Sleepless nights are better than no nights.”

(This is a short story that I wrote form my Style class and here is the final draft I have done for it.)

“Sleepless nights are better than no nights.”

Sleep is not required now. At least that is what his body and mind have decided. He is tired, so tired that he has found himself sleeping in his lunch break sometimes. It is his second month in his new job, the job he took to be away, away form her. She who is all-evil but all beauty as he likes to often describe her. He figures that he could maybe blog about her and call her the most hateful person in the world or he could commemorate her beauty by writing her all those love poems and songs that he already has in mind, and those that he has already memorized. He is not bitter; bitter is a taste that you describe butter with or some sort of bitter-type-food. No he is angry, but mostly passive aggressive about it. He could confront her and make her see how much she is missing out by not having him by her side, but he doesn’t. Confronting her would mean that he would have to see her and that he is not ready for. He thinks, well thought that he wasn’t ready for it. But it came to his office and it decided to be nice and it’s not an it, but a she. A she who had no right to come into the office like a goddess, or to be nice to him and make it seem like nothing happened. Sure nothing happened we all live in denial at some point right? He hates her…no he loves her. Oh sweet apothecary why can’t thee give me a potion to make all of this go away, to make her stay away. Nay, that would mean that she would win and if she wins then he will be angry, and not the passive aggressive kind. In a way not even the wrath of God himself could stop him. But he doubts that could ever happen.

It is like he is stuck in autumn, everything is dying and you know that winter is coming so you begin to get the winter blues. He always thought that autumn was far more depressing than winter. Winter blues are bearable, but autumn is not. Autumn kills spring and he loves spring. Spring is his reason to live! But he is stuck in autumn and maybe he will never come out of it. He is angry with her for taking his spring. She knows that she is doing it. He has always liked spring and she has always liked summer. He would love to take a way her summer. He would love to be her summer...oh sweet confusion eating him alive!

Maybe he isn’t mad or angry at her maybe he is angry with himself for being too dumb, too naïve, too blind to see the truth. What truth is that though? Truth he never thought he had a chance or even a feeling that all of this would come out to be good. But then again she never gave him, told him, or made him seem that he didn’t have a chance. NO! She led him on, on to a sticky pawn, which he has gotten himself stuck in, and he sees no rope in the near future. Well there is a rope, but he rather not use it. Give ‘em enough rope. Why would you say that? Who says that? Expect for the Clash of course. Nineteen-seventies punk band, that was honestly his favorite band first! But even listening to Joe Strummer’s raw power can’t bring him to get out of this runt. Runt? What is a runt? Oh, it’s an animal smaller than average, yeah he knew that! Why would he use runt? Maybe there is something wrong with him. Maybe there is something wrong with the world! Ah, this would be usually the time that she would laugh hysterically and he would echo her. “God, why don’t I have more friends?” he asks himself. Well there are a number of reasons actually he thinks. One because all of his friends are back home and the only friend he has here is Mrs. Lovejoy’s (who is nothing like her name, mind you) his neighbor, pug Charlie. He knows that it’s pathetic and maybe it has reached the pathetic of pathetic but he doesn’t care anymore. Charlie is quiet, loving, and unselfish, he shared his bone with him the other day! Good God insanity has gotten to him! Lord helps us all! What is with all the religious references, he suddenly thinks? The last time the Lord was before him was a time ago; he used to live in his parent’s house then. And even then he used to find anything to do but go to Saturday School. Trouble was his nickname in Saturday school. His mother visited the teacher way too many times to keep track of…fifty-two to be exact. Saturday school has made him now go into memory-lane-mode and he suddenly begins to recite: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. First Corinthians chapters X-I-I-I, verse eleven.” Hmm…. maybe he should “put away childish things” With out thinking or taking notice of time, he picks up his receiver and dials. He doesn’t think of a happy ending, or even a beginning with her, he just thinks of the piece of mind he will get and the slumber he hopes to achieve as soon as the call is over. Whether it goes all up in flames or all is finally right with the world, he doesn’t care. As long as hears her voice and has his best friend back, at least for a runt of second, he would consider staying in the sticky-pawn forever. As long as he knew that he wasn’t alone. Maybe she could give him back his spring and he could be her summer.