Desperate Attempts

Desperate Attempts

”142...55...54...53“

No... I counted that sheep twice !

Well, I don't care if counting sheep has helped many people get rid of their insomnia, because it

certainly didn't work for me. Here I am, lying on my comfortable bed with my eyes closed, counting

sheep for hours until I felt sorry for the poor creatures jumping uselessly over my imaginary fence .

I got out of bed grumbling, adding this attempt to the list of failed approaches I had tried, hoping it

would give me a few hours of sweet sleep after three days without any rest. Or was it four days? The

days overlapped with each other until I felt like a prisoner in a slow-moving time vortex .

I looked at the clock on my phone—which had become my sworn enemy—and saw that it was

almost 4:30 in the morning. The numbers lit up the phone screen defiantly, as if mocking me and

my miserable situation every time I looked at them .

I felt as if the air in my bedroom was gradually thinning until I was about to suffocate. So, I left the

room and went to the kitchen to warm up a cup of milk sweetened with honey in another futile

attempt to plead for precious sleep. Then I thought of drinking it on the balcony, hoping that the

cold air would make my eyelids heavier and convince lady sleep to stop being so elusive and come

visit me after her long desertion .

I passed by my father's room -the second and only other tenant in the apartment after my mother's

passing a few months ago- and smiled with amazement mixed with a dash of envy at how deeply

and peacefully he was sleeping. Quite simply, he laid his head on the pillow... and slept. I was not

surprised, because a week ago, sleep was a given for me too, like eating, drinking, and breathing,

and I never imagined that the time would come when I would be willing to sacrifice my “lifetime

savings” just to sleep normally like the rest of mankind. Especially since money is now useless after

my fiancée left me because of my insistence that my father should live with us after marriage

instead of leaving him alone .

My resentment towards my father's deep sleep grew as I remembered how I had dozed off for a few

seconds in front of the TV today before he gently shook me asking innocently, “Are you asleep, Ahmed? You're going to sleep without eating with me!” Those few words were enough to scare the

sleep away and make her flee again. So, I got up, I ate, and he slept ...

..............................................

On the balcony, I started thinking again about the reason behind this sudden insomnia. Some of my

friends said that insomnia is caused by anxiety or a sign of depression. One of them played the role

of a psychiatrist and analyzed my condition as a result of the boredom that surrounds me from

every aspect. Indeed, I used to always complain about the monotony of my life. Now that my days

have become long and interconnected, my sense of boredom has doubled to the point that it is

driving me crazy. The same tedious job right after graduation... the same friends from middle

school... everything is the same, unchanged. I cannot remember the last time something new

happened in my life .

But after those sleepless days, boredom became the least of my worries; now my head never stops

thinking for a moment. My sick mind tortures me with all the gloomy thoughts and memories that

have passed—or could pass—through my life. Add to that a frayed nervous system and patience

shorter than a blink of an eye. My heart beats faster than the light paining my chest. I am not proud

to say that in two days I had five arguments at work -two of them with my direct supervisor- so I

decided to stop being stubborn and take a leave of absence from work before I found myself fired,

out of concern for the safety of the company's employees .

I fidgeted again in my seat on the balcony and decided I couldn't take it anymore. As soon as

morning arrives, I will go to the nearest pharmacy and ask for any medication that will force me to

sleep. I had previously refused to use these types of remedies after hearing that they could lead to

depression. But enough was enough. Natural methods had not helped, and I felt madness gradually

creeping into my brain cells until it had almost taken over completely without any form of

resistance .

It seems I am not the only one awake at this hour; the balcony door of the apartment in front of me

opened with a muffled sound, and my neighbor, Mr. Ezzat, stepped out and stood smoking his

cigarette without seeing me. I felt that there was something different about him. But what could it

be ?Had his hair changed? No, his hair was dyed professionally, almost hiding his age of fifty and

concealing his gray streaks. So, what was different then? It felt as if he had grown taller !...

.................................................................

I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor and remind myself to breathe, realizing that the only thing

different about the man standing in front of me was that he was... standing. I had known Mr. Ezzat

for more than thirteen years as a crippled man, confined to his wheelchair as a result of an old

accident in which his wife lost her life and he lost the ability to move forever. Or so everyone

thought !!!

Should I do something? Tell someone... my father... anyone ?

Fate did not give me time to think, as my damn phone chose that very moment to ring with a name I

didn't get to see before dropping the phone in shock at the sound of its ringing in the midst of this deadly silence .

I watched the phone hit the ground in slow motion, like in old movies, before I mustered up the

courage to look up at Ezzat, naively hoping that a miracle had happened, and he hadn't noticed me

yet. When I finally looked up to where he was standing, he wasn't there. His balcony was empty .

I didn't know what to do. My mind, which hadn't stopped thinking for days, decided that now was

the right time to stop and rest. I rushed to go to my dad so we could think about it together .

My sweaty fingers glided over the glass door of the balcony without managing to open it, so I quickly

wiped them on my clothes and tried again, to no avail. The door was locked from the inside !

The moment I realized this was the same moment I saw my dear neighbor facing me from behind

the glass door. He tilted his head to the right and examined me without blinking, as if he was

deciding what to do with me. To add to the unfortunate events, my father decided to wake up at that

time. He stood behind Ezzat, yawning, without realizing that we had a guest in the house .

Within seconds, my poor father was lying on the floor in front of my eyes after Ezzat smashed the

crystal vase—the last remnant of my mother's feminine touch in the apartment—over his head .

I started banging on the balcony door with all my strength, screaming and begging him to leave my

father alone, that it wasn't his fault... that I was the one who discovered his secret. I swore I

wouldn't tell anyone... I screamed and screamed, forgetting that the thick glass would only transmit

incomprehensible murmurs .

Ezzat looked around the room, searching for something, then looked at me with a crazy smile and

rushed towards the kitchen. As soon as he left, I sat on the floor to get closer to my father, blood

flowing from his head as he moaned weakly. I frantically gestured toward the apartment door,

hoping he would understand and escape before Ezzat returned and hurt him even more. He looked

at me for a long time before saying weakly :

“Did you fall asleep, Ahmed? Why would anyone leave their bed and sleep on the balcony”

................................................

I struggled to get my eyes open amidst the sunlight flooding the balcony to see my dad standing

next to me, surprised that I was still asleep. I quickly checked my phone to find that I had slept for

five whole hours and still felt sleepy. I was overjoyed by that fact as I stood up to go to continue my

time with sleep in my room, now that she has returned to me with longing after her lengthy

absence .

I exited the balcony and turned to close the door behind me when I remembered my strange dream.

I glanced toward Mr. Ezzat's balcony to find him sitting as usual in his wheelchair. Our eyes met, and

he smiled at me. A crazy smile that I know very well ...