I can't sleep

I am not sure which trigger warning to add since the story involves mentions of sexual violence, suicide inclinations and on the whole a wretched state of mind.

It’s 2 a.m. and by now June’s flicker of hope to fall asleep this night has burned out. Fighting it never works. Neither does surrendering. Cold pillow. Mellow bedsheets. A smooth indiscernible wind through the ajar window – yet her mind restless. Sometimes, during one of those nights – because they are not uncommon in her life – she feels like an interloper in her own mind. Her body needs sleep, her mind probably longs for it too, nevertheless she is too inextricably clung to those horrible memories. She tosses, turns, tries to erase all thoughts from her mind, but inefficiently. She wishes falling asleep could be easier, someday maybe even effortless. She feels fatigue spreading across her body like a slow poison as she lies craving repose though not able to get it. Haunted by images, smells and sounds, she takes the pills, puts on her jacket and flounces out of her premises for a saunter.

At this point at night everything seems sombre. Sun is replaced by street lamps, trees don’t compel one’s attention with their exuberance but with eerie forms their shadows take. Nowhere are ebullient dogs or playful children to be seen. Every gust of wind accelerates one’s heartbeat as much as every snapped twig may make one run for their life. However when you are a prisoner in your own dreams, nothing else seems to be a menace at night. That’s why June took her usual walking path completely detached.

On a cursory peek June resembled a wretched, dazed heavy drinker. Unaware of her whereabouts, weeping uncontrollably, with dark circles, unkempt hair, from time to time even unable to keep equilibrium.

 I can’t take it anymore…no not a single more night… and I know a solution… yes… and then all will end… and I will never have to feel his skin touching mine again or sense his sickly smell again, she kept saying aloud, sounding mad, trying hard to persuade herself this time she had enough strength to do it.

  She fell down, got up and irrespective of the burden of those overwhelming, inconsistent emotions, kept walking as far away from her house as it was possible.

  At last she reached the bridge. She knew that bridge very well, probably better than anyone else since no one ever came here. Or at least that’s what she thought at the time. The bridge showed signs of an ongoing decay - with a thick carpet of moss and a distinct scent of moisture. Probably that’s why she felt so connected with the place, like she belonged there. She looked at the deformed wooden boards and imperceptibly saw herself in them. She trembled but felt quite calmer, resolutely determined to achieve one goal. This one goal would be enough and then all would be different, better. Like every time nothing was holding her back except for the fear. What was different this time though was that this night she took the pills too late for them to work on time.

 She noticed she wasn’t alone on this forlorn bridge. An incongruous apparition stood on the barrier. It was a woman with spread arms, clothes covered in blood and eyes numb from crying.

For a minute amount of time June’s heart stopped. Then everything inside her surged at once – confusion, terror, disbelief – leaving her motionless. Only after some seconds did she realize, her heart hadn’t even slowed down. It had been racing like her life would depend on it. She on the other hand wasn’t sure it was actually happening. It could have been her mind’s ploy. Maybe her brain was doing something to her to make her go back, return to the house. Maybe there was no one standing there. Maybe all of this was just an illusion.

  Suddenly, she realized the atmosphere was heavy, almost suffocating. Though she was used to the silence, by no means was it ordinary silence, it was rather a void. She had to feel this emptiness with an answer whether this was real, was it really happening. She knew she wasn’t dreaming. Dreams usually came as a salvation in a way of letting her end her misery and as a punishment by allowing her to do that indefinite amount of times, but never with lasting effect. Since she was still standing where she had stood – it was not a dream. But how to know what is real? That was something that for some time she had been founding inconclusive.          

Her thoughts got interrupted by a noise. The sound barely pierced through her fog. It didn’t snare her senses enough for her to know what that was. Mentally she was far away from the whole scene. Nowhere specifically, just in a distant proximity from her body. Nevertheless, at least for a second the sound pushed her back from her mind to the reality.

She looked for the source of the noise. She didn’t see anything. The bridge was there. But where is the apparition… At this point she could have believed she made the whole thing up. That there was never anyone standing there. That all of this was just a reflection of her deplorable state of mind. But then she heard someone crying.

It was crying like June could have never imagined before. She almost felt like it could be her lungs aching from trying to gasp some air.

What have I done… Sounded the voice, booming almost like from the netherworld.

Some words got through the weeping. They inimitably transmitted a wish to die, to end the dolorous state of mind. It pierced June, she fell to the ground and felt like there was enough will in her to get up. She felt somehow connected to the woman, though there was hardly anything she knew about the apparition before her. She understood what her crying expressed – this wish for your lungs to collapse, your heart to lose power and your mind to shut down.

Then it got to her, the pungent smell of blood. And more crying. June’s senses overloaded and her being overtaxed from all the stimuli made her slow on registering the reality. Especially since all that felt not true.