Nuit Blanche (Sleepless Night)

By spheeris1

Warnings/Notes: Multiple POV's, probably too short, poetic nonsense

Inspired by too much French language

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~ Part One ~

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Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

That's roughly….264 ticks and…

….263 tocks.

Is this better than sheep?

Not that I ever count sheep when I can't sleep.

Usually I count Student Council members, leaping

Gracefully over rows and rows

Of roses.

Which doesn't help me sleep.

Sometimes I focus too long on one of their faces.

Or I end up giggling about the whole thing.

Touga? Jumping with his hands in his pockets?

Like a cat….who ate the canary.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it is ticks and tocks.

And I am never going to sleep tonight.

I can already tell.

My eyes stay wide.

My pillow feels hard.

And I hear faint snores somewhere.

I sigh. Why can't I be asleep like Chu-Chu?

Little monkey, sated with cookies and crackers,

Contentedly snoring away.

Sawing logs.

Now I am paying too much attention.

Yes, sleep is no longer an option.

I can hear the clock still, but now I

Can hear snoring and crickets and wind and that damned drip-drip of the bathroom faucet.

I sigh…again.

I make my eyes close. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Like an internal mantra.

And I try to drown out the ticking and tocking…..

And I see roses.

Tons of roses, millions of roses.

Are there no other flowers? Just roses?

No…honeysuckle? Hollyhock? Lilies?

But roses are all I see. All I smell.

And I see myself stretched out upon them, arms open wide.

I smile.

The sun is out.

It is warm.

And I can hear someone talking to me, but I cannot really hear the words.

But I laugh as if I can.

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My eyes are shut.

I can hear her turn.

And turn.

And turn.

And turn.

It's like someone is flicking a switch.

My switch.

I am asleep.

Then she moves and I awake.

Watching the mattress shift and hearing the uneven breathing.

And I can hear nothing else.

Only her moving, her breathing, her being awake.

Like needles into my skin, I pin down

The urge to rise.

The urge to serve.

Just for a moment….just for a second….just…..

I smile.

She has stopped.

And my eyes close as if nothing has happened.

I am asleep.

Yet never am I rested.

I walk all night in my dreams, traveling paths I know too well.

Rotted trees and decaying cobblestones.

And the perfume of hate.

I hear his laughter.

I hear people crying.

And nails bite into my skin.

But they are my own.

Every night, the same dream. The same nightmare.

The same reality.

I walk, I punish myself.

And like clockwork, I hear her voice.

I know it is her.

And I run. And I never make it to her.

'J`y suis, j`y reste…..j`y suis, j`y reste…….j`y suis, j`y reste…..'

Over and over.

And I turn away.

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Forward.

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Left.

Right.

Forward.

Forward.

Finish.

And now my muscles ache.

And sweat covers my forehead,

My arms,

The back of my neck.

How many nights has this been?

Five?

More?

I suppose it does not matter.

No rings under my eyes.

No fatigue to my face.

No slowness to my movements.

All is well.

And yet…

I lay upon the floor, enjoying the coolness of the wood.

I breathe in through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

I let my eyes flutter shut, yet I know that slumber will not happen.

I just see images play all through the darkness of night.

Like fingers snaking up my arm.

Like hissing in my ear.

Like a snake….like a snake…..

Wrapping around my body, holding me tight.

And then squeezing the life out of me.

But I can still see.

No slithering done. She runs away, laughing.

With gold glittering in her hand.

My fist slams down and my body rises.

Night six.

Awake.

---

I hate this car.

Like most things, it does not suit me.

And he is mocking me again.

Why does he do this?

Drive all the time? Speeding on false highways?

And talk, talk, talk.

All he does is talk.

About power and flowers and that *girl*.

He says flower-power. He laughs.

And I slip further into my seat, crossing my arms.

Every night I try to quiet my mind.

And it never works.

Every night I end up here…with him….

One time I woke up muttering his name.

And I laid there, staring at the ceiling,

Recalling thin fingers weaving in and out of my hair.

Did it feel good?

Or just annoying?

Or both?

Then sometimes she was with us, sitting in the back.

Her hair blowing around in a torrent of violet.

And like always, she says nothing.

And he keeps talking.

And I keep watching them both.

I wake up angry.

Always angry.

And sometimes I screw my eyes shut,

Trying to make his fingers her fingers…

But that never works.

It is he and I.

Always and forever.

And I hate it.

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END of Part One