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SLUMBER — a fiction
I dream of sleep. Tucked up, under covers. That warm womb of comfort in which we lose ourselves. Nothing can touch us there. Even time struggles through its natural defences, fat and weak.
We have lost so much.
The newsfeeds tell us of all the progress made. Increased productivity. Leisure and recreation facilities booming. A better, fitter society. I have my doubts. You lose something more than just the inconvenience of it. You also lose the joy.
Maybe one day they will track down the cause — find a biological reason for the overnight change; a way to explain why we all just felt OK with it. No complaints, save from nursing mothers. The early years are such a worry.
The mattress industry immediately went into liquidation. We all converted our bedrooms to gyms, study’s, game rooms. Our dream extension without having to lay a single brick.
But there is something: a hole, a gaping void in our days. We have filled the hours, but a truth remains open mouthed, waiting and hungry from the lies we have fed it.
To sleep, to dream. And our calamitous lives continue on.
Originally published on Tumblr
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