The sleep-thief pauses at Becca Johnson’s door, sensing she’s staring into the darkness, believing every breath her last. Across the corridor, the retired schoolteacher will be fretting, anticipating a long-deserved police visit, while in the adjacent room Ellen Ross is praying for a soldier grandson missing in action.
A profitable night in prospect.
Later, the sleep-thief pauses at Reception, opening its swag-bag of somnolence to lighten the load a little, and the already drowsy night-nurse slumps, her lighted cigarette dropping into the wastebin.
The sleep-thief shrugs, before strolling off towards the dawn.
It’s not like the old folks are asleep, is it?
A cheery little tale for the insomniacs amongst us. 🙂 Friday Fictioneers, so named because we meet on Wednesdays, is on the road once again, with Rochelle Wisoff-Fields directing the traffic from her purple bandwagon. Thank you, officer.