AN: Title and partial inspiration from the Voltaire song. Mostly inspired by my own woes-my across the street neighbors are drunken idiots who blast mariachi music at midnight, among other things. You know nothing of broken dreams until you see a moving truck in front of your hated neighbor's house…and realise that they're bringing in more crap. *sobs*

Christineoftheopera-It was very funny. For me. Oh, you're funny, Kitty. Really. What can I say, you're adorable when you're off-balance.

Johanna Crane-You're telling me. The woman was a nut. You've no idea. When she was younger she used to actively chase people that came too close to the mailbox.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Once upon a time, we were less murderous and more normal. When? Okay, I was less murderous. That's...sadly more accurate.

He arrives home wet, tired, and filled with repressed hatred towards his fellow classmates. 'Hang on, can we go over this for the thirtieth time? I was talking for the past twenty-nine.'

Prison's nice nowadays. You get books. There's worse places to go.

No matter. There's no reason to go on a murderous rampage over a chatterbox. Besides, he's done, he's got three more classes before the semester's over (yay! they can have something besides ramen soon!), he's fine.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

He pauses in the middle of hanging his coat and looks up in disbelief. What the hell is up there? An elephant? How do you even get an elephant into a sixth-floor apartment?

"We've got new neighbors."

"Hi." He kisses her forehead. "I noticed."

"They should be done moving things soon. I just saw them hauling boxes this afternoon, though, so…"

Okay. He can cope. Nobody's quiet when they're moving. He'll still find it annoying, like he does screaming babies, but it'll stop soon.

"They can't be any worse than the last ones. How many are there?"

"Two. Man and a woman. She's pretty, he's some relation to a troll. How he got that lucky is beyond me."

"Maybe they're related."

She gives him a look.

"Love, I've seen things today that would send even your anti-religious self sprinting for the nearest church. Go get changed, supper's almost ready."

It's three nights later that he's awakened from a sound sleep. For a moment he has no idea what woke him. Nightmare? No, his breathing's steady. Kitty? Nope, she's flopped across his chest like a dead woman.

"Uh…uh…oh, god!"

Oh.

Oh, god, no.

He closes his eyes and tries very hard to wish himself awake. This is a dream, one of those weird, boring 'woke up and got ready for the day but didn't really' dreams.

The moaning upstairs does not stop. Come on, this just isn't fair…

"Harder! Harder! Right there!"

Kill him now.

"Wha's tha' racket?"

He says nothing. She'll get it eventually.

Sure enough, she rolls off him to stare at the ceiling.

"Still think they're related?"

God, he hopes not. This is bad enough.

The late night sex marathons are just the beginning. Over the next two weeks, they're treated to vacuuming at four in the morning, what must be an attempt to juggle bowling balls, and drunken karaoke.

"Prison's not so bad." he murmurs one night. "You have books now. Maybe we'd get off on justifiable homicide. Self-defense."

"God! There! Harder!"

Kitty groans and pulls her pillow over her head.

"Haven't they tried a gag? People like them."

How does she…never mind. He reaches for the broom they've taken to keeping in arm's reach and hits the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, the noise does not stop.

Perhaps if he wishes really hard, on every shooting star, eyelash, and birthday candle he sees, they'll be killed horribly.

It's eleven-eleven. He'll start now.

PLEASE, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SOMEBODY MURDER THOSE FUCKERS UPSTAIRS.

Nothing happens and he rolls over, pulls the pillow over his head, and hopes for more than two hours of sleep.

The neighbors move after six months. Six long months of agony and three hours of sleep. He's sure he didn't have eye circles before they moved in.

But today! Today is the first day that they're gone! Gone, gone, gone!

He comes home from work soaked through and in possibly the best mood he's been in for a while.

"Hello, Kitty!" He grabs her and swings her around. "No neighbors! For once…a full nights' sleep."

"You're suffering sleep deprivation."

"Yes." He brushes by her and grabs an apple. "But not for long!"

They're in bed by eight-oh, the glorious silence!-and by nine he's drifting off to a peaceful slumber. Ah, the sleep of the dead…

Until, from downstairs, comes a shriek of, "VIRGIN MARY! FUCKING ALIEN!"

No.

No, no, please, no.

Prison's not so bad. At least there you have to shut up at night.

THE END