1. I Can't Go To Sleep -

He pulled his hand back and tucked it under the covers. He decided to play a game: he would imagine building a house, brick by brick, board by board. He started with the foundation. He poured the concrete. He laid the first row of bricks.

He shifted his weight, the cotton sheets feeling like sandpaper against his skin. Every fold in the fabric was a mountain range, every stray thread a needle. He closed his eyes, determined to force the darkness into a dream, but his brain had other plans. It was currently busy cataloging every awkward thing he had said since the third grade. 1. I Can't Go To Sleep

He stared at the ceiling. The shadows cast by the streetlamp outside looked like reaching fingers. Usually, he’d find it creepy, but tonight he just felt a kinship with them. They looked tired, too. "Just sleep," he whispered to the empty room. He pulled his hand back and tucked it under the covers

He tried the breathing exercises. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. By the third round, he wasn't relaxed; he was just hyper-aware of how loud his own lungs were. The house, usually silent, had developed a symphony of taunts. The refrigerator hummed a low, mocking drone. A floorboard in the hallway creaked, suggesting a ghost that was also, presumably, suffering from insomnia. He poured the concrete

Elias rolled onto his stomach. Then his left side. Then his right. He flipped the pillow to the "cool side," which stayed cool for approximately six seconds before absorbing his frantic radiating heat.

The clock on the nightstand was a liar. It claimed it was 3:14 AM, but Elias knew better. To him, time had ceased to be a linear progression of minutes and had instead become a thick, suffocating fog.

Did I really tell that barista ‘you too’ when she said to enjoy my coffee? he wondered. The memory burned with fresh intensity.