The rain beat an unsung tune on the tiles of the roof as she lay there, one leg under the covers, the other over them, unable to sleep. She had lullabies—soothing, subtle and quiet—playing on repeat in the background, mingling with the sound of the rain. Sleep would not come.
She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her arm, her body relaxing into further comfort. Still sleep would not come. She spun onto her back and sighed deeply, reaching behind herself to beat her pillow a little. The resulting bunching of the linen continued to bring no relief.
She closed her eyes tightly in rebellion, sniffing while picturing tiny, fluffy white sheep jumping over a fence.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
A slight drowsy feeling made her head droop a little, but the elation she felt when it occurred awakened her brain once more. In fact, it seemed to waken her more than ever.
She rolled over to glance at her clock and groaned, the little neon numbers seeming to laugh at her—2:45am.
Too early to wake, too late to sleep soundly, despite work early in the morning.
It was the words, you see. They haunted her. How funny it was that they could never organize themselves into sentences when it counted, but at nearly 3 in the morning they weaved together in a seamless, aggravating dance!
She lay there in agony—praying she would go to sleep—while also marveling at all the new ideas forming in her mind.
They were magnificent!
They could change the world!
What a story for the modern age!
The words then began to fade away as the enchantment of exhaustion began to bury them in its fog. Her mind relaxed, a fond peace enveloping her.
This was the usual. She knew she would not remember the words again in the morning.
Were these ideas truly revolutionary?
World-changing?
Worth it?
She fought her lazy eyelids for a moment before they opened once more, her vision blurry from the lack of contacts or glasses. Glancing over again, the clock read 3:01am.
She rolled out of bed, slipped her glasses on, clicked on her lamp, and sat down to write all the words she could think of.
Kristiana Carl is the author of this piece.
Arrow Rock Literary Journal 
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