THE CLOCK OF INSOMNIA

A story...

 

00:27

 

Raindrops were falling to the earth, tearing at it. Cold and darkness were the paint mixture that formed the color of the night. Unidentifiable silhouettes appeared and disappeared behind a curtain. The lights were on in the building opposite, but rendered useless by the lack of people. A street lamp flickered like a signal, dazzling the eye, while a young man sat on the balcony... Delicate, pale, and sleepless... His fingers, trembling and cracked from the cold, were clasped together. He looked at the curtain where the silhouette had been. What was visible was now his own face.

The light came back on. The owner of the silhouette must have forgotten something. Suddenly, he was confronted with his own face again.

He looked at the street. A hunched, elderly body, holding a broken umbrella, was fighting the storm. The wind should have been the winner of this battle. But the body did not give up, it fought.

The street lamp, resembling a signal, still retained its dazzling brilliance.

He put his hand to his forehead: “Ah, this dark street! Is there no light?”

He closed the curtain. The lamplight was still flickering.

He began to watch from behind the curtain.

 

01:48

 

Before, his body, which couldn't sleep from sleepiness, was now unable to sleep from sleeplessness. He thought about making a coffee. This would only increase his sleeplessness, further intensifying the pleasure of his masochistic soul. No matter what he did, the hours wouldn't pass. -Well... he wasn't doing anything anyway!-

He went into the kitchen from the balcony, with the windows and curtains closed, to make coffee. Even though he tried to take the jar full of coffee from the refrigerator and open it, he could barely manage it. Inside the jar - just like in the Simplified Cookbook for Those Who Don't Know How to Cook - were two sugar cubes. The sugar cubes were buried in the coffee powder, and the lid of the jar, whose glass was frozen, closed again. He poured two cups of water.�"Who would drink the second cup anyway?�"He stirred it once and put it on the fire.

His eyes narrowed, he stared at the burning fire.

 

This reminded him of the cold corpses burned by his own sons on the banks of the Ganges. He saw his own body turning into dark gray ash grains in the fiery red flames.

 

To become earth or ash...

There were two options for a human being.

Either to become a part of the ecology within the earth, or to become ash and be scattered by the wind into the river...

He annihilated his own nothingness.

 

02:53

 

At the bottom of the cup, only the bitter, fragrant grounds of the coffee remained, its essence.

 

�"After the evaporation of the sea waters, only salt remained.

And what remained of the watery, powdery beans called coffee was just a spoonful of grounds.�"

He traced his index finger around the oval handle of the cup. His eyes were drawn towards the grounds, narrowing and narrowing, and he became one of the grains. He suddenly shivered. He must have been cold. The heaters weren't on. He still hadn't learned how to pay his bills at the ATM, the large, small-screened machine that stood on every corner. He didn't even have a credit card yet. He put his money in a black pouch, just like his grandmother had done, and hung it around his neck on a long string. He got up from the broken chair, went out through the slightly rusty door with a creak, and reached the living room through the dark hall. The living room was large and messy. The laundry was hung out to keep from getting wet, and bags full of clothes and books were lined up in front of the sofa. He put a Bach record on the record player that had been left to him by his father. He lay down on the sofa and let his ear be drawn to the melody of Avé Maria. "Ah, if only I could play the violin!"

If only he could play Bach. Especially Pachelbel...

If only he had received musical training when he was little...

No, he hated the music teachers at school.

Except for one...the whole school was in mourning when she learned that her music teacher* had been stabbed by her husband in middle school. Especially the girls...

She cried too. She was a GIRL, after all.

She could never be ANGRY, she always cried in situations like this.

The record player's needle started to wear out and the music stopped.

Only then could she realize that she was getting the therapy she needed daily.

Listening to Bach was better than taking medication, but taking medication and listening to Bach was more effective.

She pressed the button on top of the broken button on the record player and turned it off.

The hours dragged on.

Actually, she wasn't sleepy.

Whether it was the thing she was addicted to that wouldn't leave her, or whether she wouldn't bother to give up the addiction, it was unknown. A bond was keeping her going.

 

03:33

 

She felt cold. She pulled a blanket around herself, wrapping her arms around it. She was shivering constantly.

She wished she could just sleep and never wake up again. Waiting for the morning like this was becoming even more unbearable. He pressed his head against the cold, dry wall, not damaging his skull, but firmly.

He closed his eyes. The image of the madmen�"who banged their heads against the wall at regular intervals of one second�"came to mind. “Those white shirts!”

He had worn one himself. He was in high school then. Everyone was obligated to wear that straitjacket.

They also made them wear badges that branded them like branded slaves.

 

He hated it.

Being mass-produced wasn’t for him.

Everything, everyone was a worker in a factory. Even the uniforms were made by a single master craftsman.

No one could sew their own uniform; those who did were condemned. “That’s what you call being labeled!”

He remembered his math teacher’s words from middle school. That saying could be applied to any situation. “Oh, teacher, if only you knew!”

 

He looked at his watch.

 

04:15

“I wish I hadn’t drunk the coffee! That cruel doctor is refusing to give me sleeping pills. I’m so annoyed with him! Isn’t he a doctor? Wouldn’t it be helpful if he just wrote a prescription? What an idiot he is!”

 

(The last sentence is a separate, unrelated comment about a doctor and the doctor's refusal to give the doctor any advice.) 05:05

 

“My room is dark! My heart is dark! I wish no one would turn off the lights! How many times have I told my mother, ‘Don’t turn off the lights while I’m awake!’... The streets are dark... Is there anyone out there awake at this hour? Someone who’s conditioned themselves to bang their head against the wall like me? Or someone who considers 5 their luckiest number but is experiencing such bad luck at this hour? Is my head confused, or am I the one confusing things? Or are the things I’m confusing the ones I never bothered to confuse actually confusing? I’m literally having trouble breathing. My doctor must be asleep now. He’s probably even having his 5th dream. I’ve never seen a doctor who knows so much about rights and laws. If he didn’t, would he still be living here? A villa 1 km away from his workplace, a dog at his door, his child in daycare... Every year he travels to a European country, even 55 countries, he brags to his students in class �" though his students never listen to him �" he has an intellectual air about him. The moonlight reflecting on my closet door..." Isn't there anything? It keeps bothering me. My already lost sleep is getting even worse. I think I'm tired. Can a person get tired of nothingness? Of course they can. 'Nothingness is like a bottomless pit, you can't see the end of it!' Who said that? Was it me? I don't know, I don't remember. I'm just tired, that's all. I have nothing else. If only I could go on a vacation... I have enough money anyway. Not too far. Just sea, sand, sun... Lying on the sand for hours... My skin doesn't get tanned, but apparently you can look bronzed using creams. What am I lacking compared to others? Oh, time doesn't pass, I can't wait for summer to come! The weather is starting to get cold. Winter will come soon. Soon? It's already here. Because you're still wearing thin clothes and a cardigan instead of a coat �" even though you're cold… The rains… It's been a long time since I wrote poetry, I think. You used to write funny things, but they told you they liked them so you wouldn't be upset. You're so malicious about my daughter. Don't call me your daughter! I'm not your daughter. Okay, fine. I understand. I guess even medicine won't be enough for you. Maybe some kind of injection to stop my thoughts, to block them... Are you talking about me? Medicines? No, what medicines? I wouldn't even go near that. Even if I said I needed to dream, I can't dream. Dreams don't just pop into my head. I guess I don't have photographic imagination. What should I do... what should I do to have it too? You're funny. As if it happens just by wanting it. The night is so long. I wish summer would come so I could go to the sea. Or should I go to the southern hemisphere? How much would that cost? My parents are sleeping so soundly. I wish I could stop losing sleep... Ah, there was a time when...”

 

06:00

 

“I don't know if the hours are passing or not. I wish I could be like those punctual men, always ready to work with their bags in hand. Men who go on talking without saying a word and don't care about anyone... What is it that doesn't pass my time, how and why? What would happen if question marks were used instead of semicolons or vowels?” I wonder?

If I sealed my lips with super glue, would this talking idiot in my head shut up?

Should I learn a new language to avoid being misunderstood any longer, or should I just use the existing one?

Is it impossible to do philosophy without reading these philosophy textbooks?

Are we watching television, or is it watching us?

Is there no difference between the kitchen and the kitchen?

Why are roads either by air or by land?

Did Bell predict that the telephone he invented would surpass parapsychology?

Are my hands writing, or are they being controlled by someone else?

Is the heart a tool or an end in itself? Who controls it and for what purpose?

Should one learn the etiquette of acquiring knowledge before or after?

While music nourishes the soul, don't books also nourish the soul? To understand time, must one become a slave to time?

Spending the night without sleeping...Is being able to do this a blessing or a punishment?”

 

06:31

 

A faint, murky reddish glow began to appear in the sky. The clock still showed 00:01.

Reviews

[lizzie]

Hi! Your story has a very natural emotional flow, and it translates wonderfully into visual storytelling. Several moments felt perfect for comic panels.
I’m a professional comic/webtoon artist working on commission would love to chat if you’re interested.
Instagram: lizziedoesitall