Because I'm Tired

The wind is blowing gently through the reverse side of the blinds. The blinds tap ever so slightly against the window pane, virtually inaudible. He sits staring off into the distance, back against the bed post. The room moves unnoticeably around him. He is in the zone. Thinking. A bead of sweat rolls down his face. He catches it on his tongue just before it reaches the bottom of his lower lip. He continues to stare out into nothing, nowhere. His fingers rattle. Almost as if in an attempt to reestablish that they are still connected to his hand. He glances down at his feet. His right foot wiggles, slowly. Still connected. The clock strikes 3 a.m. Another bead of sweat rolls down his face. This time he does not catch it. It splashes against his bare chest. He winces, slightly. The poison has begun to take hold. His eyes move in the direction of the empty glass sitting next to him. His heart begins to speed up. He is unphased by the sudden increase. He breathes in and breathes out. In and out. His hand reaches for the air. It pauses as if grasped by the hand of another. His eyes stare up at no one, nothing. His hand begins to recline downwards. His heart slows. He never blinks. His hand continues downward. He breathes in. His hand rest at his side. He breathes out, never blinking. His heart stops. He never blinks. His eyes stare off into nowhere, nothing.

ARob