Short Story / In the Waking Hour
Four in the morning, and once again I’m wide awake. In about four hours, I’ll have no choice but to be awake. The hustle of the world around me will keep me from my desperately missed friend. All about one of the four windows in my two bedroom apartment are closed with shades drawn. The kitchen window remained slightly opened to help air out my chain smoking habit.
It seems to have gotten worse recently, both my chain smoking as well as my sleep habits. I smoke because I can’t sleep. My bed has become a stranger to me. I am afraid of taking anything, but if I don’t change soon, I might have to start.
I looked out the kitchen window from my seat on my loveseat. The sun will start poking up soon, but for now, the sky is falsely illumined by a cluster of dim street lamps.
I turn my attention back to my television. The soft glow of an infomercial streams across the room. I had muted the sound sometime ago. As the captions appear and disappear on the screen, I am reminded of the unfinished book that rested on my bedside table.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself, “I have to get some sleep.”
This had become my routine, watching the TV until an ungodly hour in the evening. Then I would get up pissed off at myself for not being in bed. I would turn off the tube as I slowly rose from my seat. Then, in one quick motion, I would toss the remote down on the couch and make my way towards my bedroom. Most nights I would forget about the open kitchen window, and then would wonder after my four or five hours of sleep why my apartment felt drafty and chilled.
Finally, after I had found the one comfortable spot in my bed, suitable for my reading, I picked up my book. I turned to the page where I had left off at and was suddenly disturbed by a repeating “thumping” sound. I looked around my room. I couldn’t think of what it was. I knew it was not someone at the door, it was to quite. Nothing that I owned made that kind of sound or repeated that fast.
Then, when I was about to get out of my bed, it came to me. It started off quiet at first, but grew louder in uneven spurts. Against the thumping there came another sound and I could tell what it was. I closed my eyes in disgust.
I tried to block it out, but the orgasmic screams of the downstairs tenant grew increasingly louder as her current boyfriend indulged himself even more. I could only imagine how her kids could sleep though the thumping and screaming. Hell, I couldn’t even concentrate on my book. Finally, almost as if it were a dieing man’s last call for help, there was one last, loud, blood curdling scream of seeming pleasure, then nothing. The quite sound of silence and peace came to the three story apartment complex once again.
Now being a young male of 23 years old in age, I am not opposed to sex. Actually, I love sex. However, when your neighbors can almost get off to the sounds of your love making, well enough is enough. I, personally, would be upset if I were in a deep sleep, only to be awaked by the sounds of someone having sex, especially if I was the one not having sex.
Never the less, in my fit of self pity, I reopened my book and started to read. I only got a few pages into it until I felt the heavy blanket of sleep finally come over my body. I knew that before long, I would finally be asleep. Finally, I thought, a little time to revive my body. I almost couldn’t wait.
Having read my last paragraph, I returned my nightly companion back to its rightful spot. I reached up and turned off my bedside lamp. Rolling over I found the cluster of pillows that I had slept on the night before. They felt soft as I returned my head to them. I thought about the day I had. I took a trip down to the city plaza to do some photography of the fountains. That never got done. Instead, I walked around for an hour before I stumbled my way into a book store. After a considerable amount of time, I finally made my purchase and headed home.
Soon after I had dropped my parcels off did I leave my home again. It was to the local café, The Daily Dose. I had almost forgotten that they were an internet hotspot until I walked in to find myself the only one out of about twenty without a lap top. How out of place I felt. Though, I quickly got over it after my first drink and most of the people had left.
The café was a great place. A year ago, I had gone there at least twice a week. Now, I am lucky if I got in there once every three months. It was the place where you could order a beer and a coffee and not have to leave the room. It was quiet and felt secluded. It also doubled as an art gallery for photographers, painters and independent film. The Daily Dose is a place in its own.
The day had been good. I was almost in a slump by spending day after day, locked up alone. Though, finally I got out and I enjoyed my life as I had made it.
As my eyes slowly started to sink together, my body felt more and more comfortable as I slipped farther into slumber. It was as close to heaven as I knew I could ever achieve while still being alive. Closer and close I drifted, then finally, all at once…
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I did not catch any typos, but I think you have a very comfortable writing style. Nothing seemed forced and all the sentences seemed to flow very well together. Have you written other short stories…I think you’ve done a good job!
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In regards to grammar, I won’t get really picky, but “place where I left off at” is incorrect – do away with the “at”. Also, “to quite” should be “too quiet”. The paragraph that starts “the cafe was a great place” could use a little work – the statement about not leaving the room is a little fuzzy, and you should say “independent film MAKERS”, since you are listing people here. One last thing, and then I’ll be more positive – you switch tenses, starting out in present tense and continuing through most of the story in past tense.
On a more positive note, I think you are talented, and this is a great start to something. I think you should work with it and build on it. I’d like to know more about why the character isn’t sleeping and has slipped into a slump in life. Why isn’t he enjoying anything or doing the things he plans? Why isn’t HE the one having sex and annoying the neighbors?
Work with this one; I think you have a good basis to start.
As someone who’s experienced both long-term insomnia and neighbours / flatmates who shag noisily, I can identify with this, and I think you convey much of the frustration that arises from the situation well. A few errors still to iron out though: ‘my seat on my loveseat’ is a lumpy phrase, for instance.
‘to quite’ should perhaps be ‘too quiet’; for ‘dieing’ try ‘dying.’ ‘Never the less’ is in fact ‘nevertheless.’
I think this would benefit from further revisions and some expansion in parts, but not a bad effort.
Nice writing exercise but you’ve still got a lot of work ahead of you. You switch tenses, between the present and the past. Pick one and stick to it. Or at least use the past tense appropriately ie when you’re describing your narrator’s day.
You’ve still got typos: to quite should probably too quiet?
“All about one of the four windows in my two bedroom apartment” – I’m assuming you mean all BUT one of the windows?
I would stick this piece on a shelf somewhere for a few weeks, then take another look at it with fresh eyes. You’ll notice where you’ve got more work.
Keep going!
” it was to quite. ” I think you meant to say quiet, you mispelled it in a few other places as well.
Its a good piece of work but its just that I felt like I was reading someones diary or listening to a unseen speaker in the beginnings of a movie. If this was the intention then you have achieved it, but if not then its not actually a story. Its good nonetheless i enjoyed the protagonists thoughts, which i feel by your forward were likely you own. its a good little piece i would be interested in seeing what you can do beyond the journal entry spectrum.
Gavinswar
with some work I think this has potential but definetly some polishing is in order:
example:
“All about one of the four windows in my”
some sort of typo here not really sure what this means.
also, your side trip into the daily dose seems slightly out of place and I’m not really sure what you hoped to accomplish by it.
take a good look at this piece and do some revision.
I totally relate to this. I like your writing, but I’m here to critique.
the paragraph that starts “This had become my routine…” uses the word “my” 6 times, and myself once. Is it an intentional implication of ownership?
Actually “my” is litered all through this piece.
in this,”dieing man’s last..” it should be spelled dying.
This reminds me of when I first started working nights and would have killed for some sleep.
You pack a lot of story and backstory into a compact story. Very well done.
The story seems to go on it’s own trips, stopping by to add a couple more words to what started out as a good idea. It is fragmented and hard to read. Sorry to be so blunt. The first half of the story has a lot of potential. It needs to be expanded on. Example, Tell use about the main character, go into more details about the apartment. Is there more to know about the couple having sex. You could really go places with that idea. Give the reader something that draws use in and makes them what to stay. the last quarter of the story I was just lost. You were sleeping, dropping off parcels, having coffee then a sleep. If this is a dream you need to rethink it. I really don’t know what to say about the second half. If you expand on the main idea. Stay focused you can turn this into a good story.
The most noticeable attribute of the text that appealed to me is the fact that while you are dealing with something which takes up a lot of time, you do so quickly. As far as that goes, it seems like this strength could be embellished by making some strategic cuts and edits from the body of the story that don’t add much to teh general idea; specifically the part about the coffee house at the end, could be left out without affecting the text as a whole.
Another point i noticed was the overtly lucent nature of the narrator. For someone struggling with insomnia this seemed somewhat strange to me. Perhaps it is different for everyone, but whenever it hits me i feel drugged but cogent, whereas the narrator here is most certainly cogent and aware of everything that happens. More a question of style than one of making the message heard, i admit, for my own reading of the text qua meditation on insomnia this aspect of the narrator could be reworked.
Overall the language was good. As far as typos, when the stranger having sex finishes it would be ‘dying’ not ‘dieing’, apart from that i didn’t notice any.
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