Just Like That

He'd been tossing and turning.

He'd moved from one cool part of the bed to the other allowing the coolness to percolate and calm the warmth of his body heat. Nothing worked. Sleep still eluded him. He'd lost sense of time and couldn't tell for how long he'd been engaged in this losing Gulder Ultimate Search for the embrace of good old sleep.

He wondered what was amiss. Had his insomnia broken free of the shackles he'd finally succeeded to fasten it with when he banished it from his life after a decade of an internecine Royal Rumble? But how was that possible? It was meant to never return. Those shackles were eternal. Were supposed to be eternal, any way. And he'd relished the relief of swinging straight to Dreamland a few ticks after his tired head hit his wooly pillows. It had been so for a while now, he no longer remembered how to deal with tossing and turning any more.

He tossed some more. Turning here and there, trying to think happy thoughts of peace and calm, willing his mind to rest and summoning the spirits of sleep.

Still ...

He exhaled loudly. Exasperation was creeping into his psyche now. He knew that spelt the end of his attempts to sleep. This was experiential knowledge acquired from those years spent fighting the anti-sleep fiends that came to eat at his precious sleeping hours. He steeled his mind against it, releasing the inbuilt forges he'd created to incinerate any and all smidgeon of exasperation immediately they began to take form.

Yet he knew. That was exactly what those demons that struggled to keep him from the embrace of sleep desired. This active state of mind to keep away the wiles of exasperation only served their purpose to the tee. It kept him from sleep more than anything else he did. They'd rather he stayed in this state than think of calm rivers, peaceful greens and idyllic forests.

He sat up.

The mild whir of the air-conditioning set and faint drone of the other electrical appliances registered in his now alerted mind. Those were the only sounds to be heard. It was that time of night when nothing stirred. That time of night when normal people slept the sleep that rejuvenated the body. When dreams were dreamt that fascinated the mind. That time of night when ...

He heard the familiar click of the wall clock in his room. It was the type that make an almost imperceptible sound when it clocks each hour. Which hour was it announcing now, he couldn't guess. Was it 3am? 4am? Midnight, even? He reached to feel for his smartphone on the bedside stool because he didn't want to turn on the lights and totally banish all hopes of eventually sleeping from his night.

As his fingers felt the phone, something occurred to him. He realised that he'd never heard that clock click at night before. He often heard it early in the mornings and on some quiet times in the evenings. But, never ever at night. And as he listened closely, it dawned on him.

It was unusually quiet tonight. Yes, very very quiet. There was power supply. And because of that, the symphony of the generating sets of varied musical compositions were deadened. Eeriely. Then, it became clear as day. That was the missing ingredient of his sleep broth. His mind had acquired a formula for battling his insomnia that mixed into the calculation the sounds of generators. It'd become a background to the concatenation of forces necessary for his peculiar anti-insomnia makeup.

With that detail absent, in vain was his struggle tonight.

He realised he was still holding his phone. As he stretched a finger to power on the screen, a certain quietness dawned all around. Yes, just like that, NEPA had struck. It was now more quiet than quiet. And as usual, the musical score was about to begin. Late though it was, it didn't take long before one generating set sound succeeded the other, adding their distinctive notes to the symphony of a lullaby.

He smiled in the dark. He could see in his mind's eye, the victory he was about to win against the ghosts of his insomnia. He dropped his phone. Stripped himself of his top and laid back on his welcoming pillows. The cool sheets caressed his bare skin. The lullaby bore him on symphonic wings.

He neither tossed. Nor turned. It was a Thursday night that felt like a Friday night thanks to the Muslims. He didn't dream of snakes or venoms. His was a sleep of tranquil blessedness. And it'll be long into the morning before he'd rid himself of sleep's embrace.