Time to say Goodnight

I woke up to the sound of birds and the soft light filtering through my bedroom window, casting long shadows across the floor from the plants sitting on the sill. The air smelled like coffee—freshly brewed, right on time, as always. The automatic coffee maker with a built-in radio—probably the best gift my mom had ever given me.

For a moment, I just lay there, breathing it all in. Normal. Safe. Real.

I glanced at my nightstand. The orange pill bottle was there, just like always. My lifeline. Without it, I’d be lost—lost in my nightmares, and my morning would be a completely different story. But not today. Today was normal. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

I jumped out of bed, took a quick shower, grabbed a fresh shirt, poured myself a coffee, and bit into a quick breakfast on the go. Yeah, that day felt amazing.

“Good morning, Aaron!” shouted my neighbour from 4A—a lovely old lady, I have to say.

“Morning, Mrs. Richardson! How are we today?” I replied.

“Aaron, stop that. Call me Becky. I’ve told you a thousand times already.”

“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Richardson. Have a good one!”

I jumped on my bike, parked behind the green bin, and cycled to work as fast as I could. Everything was perfect. I felt amazing.

“And 7:45 AM on the dot! You’re better than Japanese trains, bro,” came a deep voice behind me.

“Of course I am, Mark. Have I ever been late?” I laughed.

“Nah, never. But man, you’re nearly 40. Why the hell are you still cycling? Buy a car and do yourself a favor. Trust me, women will come to you, and you can thank me later.”

“Sure, bro, sure,” I said, waving him off as I walked toward the office door.

I had been working at TechCorp for 18 years now—half my life. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I had a stable job, good friends, an amazing boss, and most importantly, stability. Exactly what I needed, especially lately, since those crazy headaches and nightmares had started.

I finished my work quickly, as always, and took my lunch outside while the sun was still out. And to meet Nicole, of course. We always had lunch together, and today was no different. We had a nice chat, exchanged a few smiles, cracked jokes about our future, and then went our separate ways. And, as always, I walked home wishing those jokes could become reality.

The day ended as quickly as it had started. I watched baseball—not that I was particularly interested, but baseball is my kind of sport. If you miss something, you’re fine. Nothing really happens. And it’s long.

I decided to skip the sleeping pills, hoping the next day would be even better.

—

When I woke up, it was quiet. No nightmares. “Nice,” I muttered to myself, getting out of bed. I opened the blinds—it was raining. “Damn,” I sighed. But I wouldn’t let the weather ruin my day. I grabbed a fresh shirt and then noticed something odd. No coffee. “Hmm, that almost ruined my day,” I whispered, deciding to grab one at the local café instead.

“Morning, Becky!” I called out to the lady standing near 4C. She turned to me with a sharp glare.

“Excuse me, sir? You mean Mrs. Richardson, I assume? That was just a silly mistake, I hope.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that you…”

“That I what?” she snapped, her eyes stabbing into me.

“I—I’m sorry again,” I stammered, shaken, and hurried down the stairs.

Something felt off.

I cycled as fast as I could, but when I reached the office parking lot, I was met with an unfamiliar voice.

“7:45 AM? Hmm. Late again, Aaron?”

“No, sir, I’m always on time. Better than Japanese trains, as my friend says.”

“Well, seems like you need a better friend. You’re late. If Japanese trains ran like you, that would be a disaster.”

From that moment, everything spiraled. The day was relentless. My boss yelled at me more than once, and for the first time, I actually felt like he might fire me. My workload was overwhelming, my headaches unbearable. It was so bad, I even had to skip lunch with Nicole.

I came home exhausted. Completely drained. I barely made it through dinner before popping my pills and crashing into bed.

—

The next morning, I woke up slowly. I lifted my head, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. “Uff, better,” I sighed with relief. And there it was—the familiar smell of coffee. My morning routine, perfectly intact. Becky greeted me warmly, though I approached her hesitantly. Mark showed up with his usual jokes.

“Today is a good day, Nicole,” I told her.

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad,” she replied, smiling. I wished that smile would last forever.

“Even Mr. Carlson is back to his usual friendly self. He was pretty upset with me yesterday. To be fair, I had way too much to do.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes we have those moments,” she said. “You have to cherish them before they’re gone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Agh, you wouldn’t understand.”

We spent the afternoon together, and I let myself look forward to tomorrow. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

If only I knew.

—

I woke up freezing.

“In the middle of May?” I muttered, shivering. Strange. I grabbed my coffee—cold. Ran down the stairs.

“Where’s Becky?” I noticed. She was always outside having her morning smoke by now. “Hope she’s okay,” I thought as I stepped out the door.

And then everything went wrong again.

My bike was gone. Someone had stolen it. Furious, cold, and in a foul mood, I was forced to take the bus—the one thing I swore I’d never do again.

I arrived late. And this time, I knew it. I sprinted toward the office, diving into my work. Mr. Carlson prowled around, throwing me suspicious glances every time he passed. I braced myself for an explosion.

It never came.

I lived through another shift.

But once again, I missed lunch with Nicole.

“What a nightmare,” I muttered. And then I froze.

I had no pills.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. The perfect days? They weren’t real. The bad days? They were reality. Every time I skipped my pills, everything fell apart. It was that simple. I just had to wake up, take my pills, and sleep without nightmares. And I’d have my perfect life again.

But how did I wake up?

I rushed home, ignoring everyone on the street. The more I thought about whether I was in a bad dream, the more lost I felt. My apartment felt unfamiliar—like a hotel room I had checked into by mistake. The coffee maker sat unplugged. The radio was missing. The orange pill bottle was still on my nightstand, exactly where I had left it.

“Come on, Aaron. Wake up!” I screamed, kicking the air in frustration.

And then, an idea. A terrible, desperate idea.

What if I just took the pills? Maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could go back.

I grabbed the bottle, but the moment I unscrewed the cap, my stomach dropped.

Sleeping pills.

I hadn’t been avoiding nightmares. I had been chasing better dreams. Every time I took them, I lived in a perfect world. And every time I went to sleep over there, I woke up into this.

Into my nightmare.

The realization knocked the breath out of me. The warm mornings. The friendly neighbors. The good job. Nicole. None of it was real.

My hands trembled.

I needed to go back.

Just one more time. No more needed.

“That’s it. Time to say goodnight,” I whispered and swallowed the entire bottle of those fucking pills.