[by cecil.]
Cecil isn't sleeping.
He lies in bed at night, staring at the light purple ceiling tinted grey in the darkness. He shifts, turning over his pillow to try and find a more comfortable position. He picks up the small piece of paper on his nightstand, smoothing it, crumpling it, smoothing it. He gets up, making himself a cup of chamomile tea to calm his nerves. He sits back down on the edge of his bed, glances at the sleeping pills on the nightstand that he'd bought recently, hoping that they'd help.
They don't.
None of it works.
Cecil simply cannot sleep.
He still carries on life as usual, or maybe life carries on around him, but everything has taken on a dull, spinning haze. His radio broadcasts continue, but they are more subdued. Nothing can excite him or interest him. He borrowed some recommended books from Tamika Flynn, but never got further than the second chapter. All stories are meaningless, if they aren't his. And his story ended two weeks prior.
The day had begun as usual. As the sun and its duplicate began to glow a pale green, cresting the horizon, Cecil pulled on a dark purple sweater vest, completing his outfit, and ran out of his apartment to get to work early, as Station Management had started threatening latecomers with a choice of incineration, disembowelment and decapitation.
Cecil arrived at the Night Vale Community Radio station, bidding his current intern, Svee, with his usual "Good morning!" and wide, charming smile. Svee smiled back, or at least tried to, but didn't vocalise a greeting. As if she couldn't trust herself to speak. Cecil hadn't noticed that the skin around her eyes was red and slightly puffy. He didn't notice anything about anybody, not if the person wasn't… you know.
Even Daniel's dead-eyed stare was haunted with melancholy, and although he didn't speak to Cecil either – Daniel never spoke – he turned to watch him walk into the recording booth. Cecil didn't give him a second glance as he pushed open the door to his booth.
He sat down at his desk, adjusting his glasses and donning his purple headphones. Before switching on the microphone, Cecil picked up from his desk one of the framed photographs. His favourite. He smiled, a little sadly; Carlos' face radiated warmth, Cecil's arm was draped around his boyfriend's shoulder. The picture had been taken just a few days before Carlos disappeared. It had been the last photo ever taken of them. "Not the 'last'. Just the 'most recent'," Cecil checked himself.
Gazing at the man he loved, Cecil's heart expanded and floated, like someone had pumped hot air into it. He stared at the photo for a moment longer, stroking the glass over Carlos' cheek. His hand trembled a bit, and Cecil replaced it back on his desk. "Enough wishful thinking," he said to himself. "You'll call Carlos later. On with the show."
The red light blinked, indicating that he was live. "We search for an external line sub-routine on an image translator as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Welcome to Night Vale."
Cecil continued with his usual lively broadcast, interrupted only when Svee opened the door in the middle of Community Updates. "Intern Svee is here in our studio," Cecil told his listeners. "Hello, Intern Svee."
Her hands trembled as she held out a folded note. "I should have given you this earlier," said Svee, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks. "I'm – God, I'm so sorry, Cecil. We only found out this morning." Svee was quaking; Cecil took the note from her before she let go of it. Before Cecil could query her further, the young woman rushed out, closing the door with an echoing thud.
"Well, listeners, let's find out what this is all about," he intoned, his melodious voice tainted with a sinking feeling of dread. Cecil unfolded the paper. There was a brief silence as his eyes passed over the words, not understanding. "I – now, listeners – just. A pre-recorded message from our sponsors." Cecil's voice was dead, monotonous. He read the note again. The broadcast cut to the advertisement.
"Feel the rainbow, taste the rainbow, become the rainbow and experience the life and times of the rainbow. This singular rainbow will give you all you desire from life. If you refuse to feel the rainbow, taste the rainbow and become the rainbow, you will be escorted to the pits of hell. This rainbow is very emotionally sensitive and if you offend it, it will hunt you down and disembowel you. Skittles. Experience the many facets of the rainbow's intricate personality while snacking on your favourite treat!" cried a man's voice, a hint of laughter ensuing the promotion.
This man was Cecil. Cecil was not this man.
Cecil was the man who dropped the note.
Radio silence.
A deafening yell was broadcast to every working radio in the town of Night Vale. The wall took the brunt of his anger. There was no Apache Tracker to save the day this time. Cecil stopped abusing the wall behind his desk, panting. His knuckles were white and bloody.
No.
No.
This is not real.
THIS IS NOT REAL.
I AM DREAMING.
Wake up, Cecil, wake up.
Radio silence.
I… I can't wake up.
I'm already…
I am awake.
Cecil isn't sleeping.
He shakes the bottle of pills; it's half-empty.
Cecil uncaps it and pours most of the pills into his outstretched palm. His hands aren't shaking now. They're steady. Steady as they ever will be.
"I promised I'd come to visit."
[by plushii]
He can't do it.
Cecil, despite all the pain and rage boiling inside him, can't do it. Not until he says goodbye.
With now ever-steady hands, the pill bottle is placed gently, almost tenderly, onto the nightstand.
Cecil picks up his phone. Night Vale is asleep now. With a calm, soothing voice, the last remaining part of Cecil there, he leaves messages. To Tamika. To Dana. To Svee. To John Peters, you know, the farmer? Heck, he even leaves one to Steve Carlsburg. He records, on his phone, the last installment of his radio show and sends it to Svee, saying "Get this published."
Cecil is still awake. He remains on his bed for a very long time until he finishes the chores. The pills are picked up once more, and this time Cecil finishes the deed. By morning, he is gone.
A long time has passed now.
Days have gone by, friends and enemies have come and gone.
People have grown. Gotten stronger, better, happier.
New people have arrived. I'm one of them.
Yesterday, I went to the old mayor. Her name's Dana.
She told me a fantastic story.
It was about a man, who maybe wasn't quite a man, who was absolutely amazing. He was funny, kind, and managed to get out of a lot of trouble. She told me about a perfectly imperfect man. She told me how they.
How they died.
A terrible story, really.
Sad.
But beautiful in its own way.
I hope they found peace.