Insomnia Room

October the 3rd, 2019.

My window swung right open, brought leaves and autumn air into my room. This house is very old, slightly stronger wind could open it. Out of exhaustion I threw my book across the room and sighed. "Why do I even have that book? It's so boring." I reach for my phone under the pillow.

"2 am..." - I whispered to myself. After laying in my bed and counting seconds for a while, I decided to get up. I look out the window. Not a single light could be seen except street lights. They are awake when everyone is sleeping, just like me.

I stepped out of my room, reached for the light switch.

"This is going to be a long night" - I thought walking through the hallway.

I could hear the floor cracking, clock counting seconds for me, so I don't have to. Even though I do, deep inside my head. It's crazy how silence makes you think about things you would never think of in a crowded, loud room. Maybe that's okay for some people. Maybe they don't want to think in silence. Maybe that's why they run from it. Personally, I like silence. I like hearing my thoughts better. Although, sometimes thoughts can get out of control and make you forget about time, blur out anything that's happening around you...It takes a lot of time and thinking to be able to control them.

"Why does it take me so long to walk through this hallway? - I opened the door and felt coldness of tiles on my feet. Refrigerator light lightened the kitchen. I grabbed milk and put it in the microwave. I sat on the counter and looked out of the window.

"What keeps me awake every night?" - I rubbed my eyes so hard that when I opened them, all I could see were mixed colors and figures. I felt so exhausted, so heavy... It's like a cloud of rain followed me through the hallway all the way to this kitchen. Sometimes, it's almost like someone stabs me with a knife by every breathe I take. Beep of a microwave stopped my thoughts and anxiety from getting worse.

I felt warmth once I opened the microwave. Tiles didn't feel cold anymore. I picked up my warm milk and headed to my room.

"Shout!!" - I drop my cup and milk pours all over the kitchen floor. "Great, now I have to clean this up." I pick up a broom and get on the floor. I start collecting broken pieces of porcelain. As I reach for the paper towel, I accidentally step on a small piece of porcelain left on the ground.

"Ouch!! Are you kidding me?" - I sit on a little, old wooden chair by the refrigerator and grab more paper towel to press it on the wound. As I sit there, I try to control my thoughts. I don't feel like thinking deeply now. I really don't. My thoughts always lead me somewhere I don't even wanna go. I look at the floor, sit up and clean up what's left of the mess I made.

I stood there and tried to decide whether or not should I make another cup of milk. You know what, I have time to kill anyway. So once again, I grab a cup, pour milk in it and put it in the microwave. Once it's done, I carefully grab it and head to my room. Carefully.

"I won't let myself think deeply and let this hallway get so long again." - I repeated the sentence all over again in my mind, blocking all the other thoughts while walking through the hallway.

Finally, I step inside my room, close the door and sit on my bed.

I took a sip and felt warmth going through my body.

"Do I just wait till the morning? What do I do?" - I sat there in silence completely awake. I look up at the clock...

"It's been 40 minutes? Just 40 minutes?" - I put my head under the pillow and cry out of exhaustion. It's not fair.

While wiping tears, I get on the floor and look for my diary under the bed. I lie on the floor, too lazy to get up, I put my diary in front of me, and start writing.

Well, now, I could sit there on the floor and wait till the sun rises. I could get up on the bed, close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep... or I could write all night and see where it goes.

Every night, I get on the floor and write here. I never liked to write, I hated writing. I found it boring, annoying and quite a waste of time. But all I need now, is a waste of time. People sleep to waste their time, I write. I hardly ever close my eyes at night. How is that possible you ask?

Well, when I was a little kid, my dad was away a lot. He was almost never home. One time, he left and never came back. My mom was very secretive, whenever I asked her about dad, or how she was, she never replied. However, my mother was a great woman. I looked up to her. She worked really hard, we didn't talk much, but I respected her. Every night, when it was bedtime, she used to sat me on the bed, next to her and tell stories. Her stories weren't the usual type of stories other mothers told their children. I liked her stories. She'd never finish them. I used to imagine what would the end be. I used to lie in my bed all night, and just, imagine. It would keep me awake all night. That's what it is. I never asked her where's the ending, I never disrespected her stories. This room keeps everything awake at night. A room of unfinished stories, tears of exhaustion and writing. This is my room.

I tilt my head to the window, sun slowly lightens my room as it goes up. Lighter my room gets, heavier my eyelids get. I move my head closer to my diary as I slowly begin to fall asleep.

Original story by Lana Babic (13yo) .