He lied in bed, with his eyes wide open. He listened to the sound of the fan, watching it spin above him, feeling the wind caress his face. He tried to close his eyes but that would only strengthen his thoughts. It was bad enough having to think about them but when they turn into images in front of him it only made them worse.
He opens his eyes, to him this was a better solution. He doesn't move for a long time and looked almost as if he was dead. He turns his head towards the clock on his bedside, it was 4 am, he's been in that same spot for three hours, trying to resist all the bad thoughts, trying to fight the memories, trying to fall asleep. He closed his eyes and this time he was too fatigued for the thoughts to turn to images, he slept taking in the little rest he can finally get.
YOU ARE READING
A short story
Short StoryFleeting moments captured into short stories, isn't that what everyone is? A short story.
