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Insomnia – Instant Brew

Word  : INSOMNIA

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Tiny Tale – 1: By Sulekha Pande

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 Another night of tossing and turning…
Restlessness…

She got up from her bed, poured herself a glass of water from the bedside jug…
The radium dial of the clock shone, 2.45.am.
She felt very tired, exhausted and giddy with sleep, but she couldn’t sleep, hadn’t slept a wink since she’d gotten into the bed…
She felt the creaking sound from downstairs and thought it must be the rat, the sound increased and was persistent now.
Being alone was nothing new to her as her husband was always away on tours, with a fat salary and a hefty bank balance, she had little say in the matter…
She decided to make a cup of coffee for herself.

She saw it the minute she entered the kitchen, she froze to see a silhouette sitting on the dining chair.
Shaking, she rushed back to her bedroom and saw herself sleeping peacefully on the bed…
Confused, she started back to the kitchen…

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This time the silhouette had changed chairs, she called out, but a croak escaped from her throat…
She blinked and switched the lights on, the kitchen floor was lit with the golden glow of light, she turned to see the chair was empty now.

She made the coffee and looked out of the window, she overheard a familiar tune of a long forgotten song.
It was eerily melodious, but strangely had no tune to it.

She was wide awake as if in a trance, she opened the door knob….
The shadow was calling her out…..
She followed it…

Into the woods……
Her husband was telling the police search party two days later…..
I called her many times on her phone, but there was no answer…

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She suffered from insomnia…


Tiny Tale – 2: By Erin Lees Winfrey

The Hour of Giving Up

Lately, my nights have been coming apart. By morning, I feel like I have lived a thousand lifetimes in a matter of hours. They say it’s insomnia. I’m not so sure. 

There is an evening time known as the blue hour. Objects darken but the sky remains furiously blue as if it steals color from the surrounding landscape; reflects it back down to contrast starkly with the deepening shadows. It’s an hour of silhouettes, of the turquoise-marker sky meets cartoon-pencil outlines. It’s the hour of giving up.

Each evening, my body heaves a sigh, trying to keep my mind from what I know is coming. Creaking floorboards. Moaning wind. The clicks and cracks of the old house settling, the faint buzz of electricity, the hollow crush of loneliness, and then, the coming apart. 

In a dream, I see my room, my bed, my furniture, but something feels wrong. I try to force myself awake, but heaviness covers me. I hear cars passing by on the road; the water beneath their tires can sense their terrible speed. I hear the footsteps of my neighbors, the ticking clock, but I am paralyzed.

My legs are rubber. One step, two; resistance, like treading water. Then falling, falling, falling. I wait to feel the pain of hitting the floor, but there is none. I am still dreaming. 

The numbers on the clock are strangely unreadable; the ceiling frightfully missing. I open my mouth to scream, but it’s soundless, and sit up, violently. This time, I am really awake. The room is bathed in moonlight and the brisk scent of sap from the trees; blinds flapping against the wall, yet the window had been closed. The clock is upside down.

How can I tell them why I haven’t been sleeping?


Tiny Tale – 3: By Tazeen Fauzi Sayeed

 It was a cold winter morning, Sitting happily in balcony amidst dew drops and the breeze was Manjula’s favorite leisure task, But what’s wrong today? Manjula was still lying in her cozy bed with an almost tear soaked pillow beside her, she sobbed whole night.

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Helen
Hi there! I am someone who if given the option can read books all day, without even sleeping. I love binging on TV shows, with Game of Thrones being my favorite (duh!). Apart from that, I am passionate about writing and can write anytime and anywhere.
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