Insomnia and Other Short Stories

Insomnia

It was the night before the crash, and Dusk couldn't sleep.

Not that being up this late was unusual for her. If someone asked her, she probably wouldn't be able to tell them the last time she had a full night's sleep.

She sipped her vanilla chai tea, eyes intent on the diamond art picture before her. With slow, careful movements, Dusk used her pen to pick yet another diamond and pressed it into the designated spot.

She couldn't have it even slightly out of place. Other people who looked at the result might not notice the mistake, but Dusk would always be painfully aware of how one small error threw off the balance of the whole picture.

Blinking, Dusk sat up. The picture of a witch dancing in the woods wasn't even close to being finished, but with sleep finally pulling on her eyelids, there was no point in continuing.

She looked ahead of her, at the microwave sitting above the fridge. 3:34 flashed before her brown eyes.

With a sigh, Dusk grabbed the handle of her skull-shaped mug. Tossing her head back, she gulped down the rest of the tea too fast to enjoy it.

There was no point in dwelling on that, though. She had things to do tomorrow.

As she stood up, Dusk looked toward the kitchen window. Headlights lit up the flimsy white curtains as someone drove past.

The news played on the TV screen as Dusk hunched over the coffee table, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she carefully glued a small fake tree to the platform. This miniature garden would look perfect and quaint by the time she was done. She could accept nothing less.

"...car accident..." the news anchor droned on. Why was it that news people always sounded dead inside? Dusk wondered.

Probably has something to do with all the people dying, she answered herself.

Light footsteps sounded from Dusk's left, her only warning before her roommate's voice broke the peace.

"Hey, I'm wondering––do you ever, like, stop making crafts?" said a voice in a thick accent, somewhere between Scottish and Irish.

On instinct, Dusk reached up to check that her hearing aids were at full volume. Concluding they were, she turned to face Nicole.

You'd think that Nicole, being an Irish/Scottish woman, would have been the most red-headed person alive, but no. As she'd told Dusk once, jokingly, "Oh, yeah, we all have flaming red hair. Every single one of us." The only way Dusk had been able to tell she wasn't angry was by the grin on her face.

Contrary to some people's belief, Nicole's hair was a light brown that looked lighter when the light hit it just right. Like now, as it stood out against the grey of the wall behind her. She did have green eyes, though, so Dusk felt justified in saying she lived with a leprechaun.

"Good morning to you, too."

Nicole rolled her eyes, a smile tugging on her lips.

Turning back to the task at hand, Dusk started removing excess glue from the trunk of the tree as she added, "There's a craft sale coming up in about a week and I want to have at least ten pieces ready to sell by then. It's a charity sale, so I won't make any money, but still."

"You're putting all that effort into something you don't even get paid for?"

Dusk looked over at Nicole with a cocky smile. She tossed her pink hair over her shoulder.

"I'm Canadian. What do you expect?"

In response, Nicole rolled her eyes once again, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. She turned on the light.