insomnia • jschlatt & wilbur soot

insomnia.

1 am.

it was 1 am. no, wait, 1:01 now.

the blinking red leds on the digital clock flashed in his eyes, his room devoid of light other than the crimson numbers. 

the boy lay on his bed, atop his scrunched up sheets and various pillows, his hands laying on his tear-streaked face.

he'd been crying for a while. and he didn't know why.

he wasn't plagued by any emotions, nor was he in any sort of struggle. 

so why did he feel this way?

why did he feel so numb?

after his tears had subsided, leaving dry, salty streaks on his face, he sat up in his bed, leaning against the wall behind him.

1:05 am. 

it wasn't going to get any earlier, and he wasn't going to get any closer to falling asleep.

the boy sat there, fiddling with the string on his sweatpants. his mind raced with thoughts and ideas to pass the time, before deciding on something to do.

he slipped a dark sweater over his nightshirt, grabbing his boots from the side of the room. as he slipped them onto his feet, he slid the window open silently, grabbing his headphones off of the desk as he hopped out the window on the fire escape, making his way down on those unstable steps.

his feet rang out on the concrete pavement, his hands cold, even in his woollen pockets.

"should've worn a jacket," he thought, as he placed his headphones on his ears, placing his playlist on shuffle to drown out his own thoughts.

he continued to walk, and walk, and walk. he made his way aimlessly down the streets he was all too familiar with.

the pizza place him and his friends went to every saturday. the skatepark cooper would drag them to just to watch them fail. the grocery store where he'd stock up on piles and piles of hot pockets and mac and cheese. 

the memories flashed in his head. all the times he laughed, all the times he cried, all the friendships he made, and the ones he lost. 

but no matter how many things he thought about, he didn't feel.

he felt neither happy nor sad. neither good nor bad.

he just felt... 

empty.

he made his way past the houses, recognising the ones belonging to his various friends, and towards the local park.

it was fairly small but was barely taken care of. The trees grew much too tall, bushes and vines obscuring every inch of open space. amidst the rare display of nature was one of those combination playgrounds, you know, those plastic slides combined with a climbing wall and some random things underneath, with a swing attached to the other end. vines crept up the sides on the swing, the chain holding the seat down rusted and peeling, while grass grew about a foot tall, obscuring the many features of the playground.

schlatt walked towards the playground, sitting on the bottom of the slide as he took his headphones off to listen to the peace and silence around him. as he sat, relaxed, on the dirty and grimy slide, he heard a peculiar noise trail out from behind him.

he turned his head, and in the dark of night he made out the shape of a guitar peeking out from behind a tree.

he got off the slide, slowly walking towards the tree.

he heard a boy singing, a song unfamiliar to him, as he strummed the guitar effortlessly.

"I wish I never said that I was tired and hung up,

but I was so afraid of saying something dumb"

the voice was oddly calming and soothing, in contrast to the harsh lyrics.

"So I pretended to be asleep,

later that night 

you texted me; I miss you, good night"

he ran his fingers through his brown hair, his hand landing on his headphones which hung around his neck.

"Maybe it was just a joke but it's a good one

Could you tell it again?

Oh, please tell it again"

the chorus was higher, and the boy sang with more force, as well as emotion. true, raw emotion. something that couldn't be fake, that he knew came from the heart.

"Maybe this was just a joke, but it's a good one

Could you tell me again?

Oh, please tell me again"

he sat down, leaning against the tree, on the opposite side as the boy with the guitar.

and there he stayed, he didn't know how long they sat there, one listening to the sweet, soft singing, unbeknownst to the other. 

the boy checked his phone, 2:57 am.

just as he did so, he heard the leaves behind him crackle and the zipper of some bag. as he was about to stand up himself, he was met with a hand, stained with calluses, and a few simple words; 

"i guess we're a couple of insomniacs,"

he was shocked, nearly prepared to run away, as his timid self usually would've.

but on this night, he felt different. not confident, just different.

so he took the mysterious guitarist's hand, and stood up on his two feet, and stared into the obscured face of this stranger.

and even though the night sky and ceiling of trees did nothing to help light up the world, his heart felt as if a ray of sunlight had just rained down on him, and his entire world lit up in front of him.

the boy in front of him was cute.

really cute.

and schlatt knew he was fucked