A Day Without Sleep

The trash is eternal, only the branding changes. The bottles, the butts, the bags, all rolling in the gutter. Earthly evidence of daylife. A rat is rooting in the trash, mangy hair and mangy face. Whatever treasure it seeks is abandoned as I approach, even to the vermin I am repugnant.

The corner market beckons, arctic bright in the night, its lights a false sun, the only sun my skin allows. The one behind the counter chits a chat in a friendly manner, disguising his true feelings as only a salesman can. I study the face. Do I remember him? Or is this his father or his son? Generations I have come to this market. Generations he has been behind the counter, providing my vices. Some to smoke, some to drink, some to taste, but always they are here, always they have one purpose. To keep me awake. Because I have only this one night of life. The next sleep means darkness. He has them ready, he knows what I have come for. He advises me to return again, l advice which is not needed but will be heeded. My vices are never cheap and seldom legal, but this market provides as no other does.

My satchel stuffed and slung, I walk the streets.

This land is mine, this building, this street. As far as I have cared to, I carved my own kingdom of alleys and apartments, buildings and bodegas. The legal deeds are in many names, all of them mine. By streetlight and starlight I walk the routes and borders of my domain. There are gangs in the greater city. Families, mobs, cartels. The names change, the brutes remain the same. But for them my kingdom is a hole where they dare not tread. A monster walks these streets, a monster that tolerates no incursions.

I need no sleep at night, I walk for peace of mind, I walk for purpose, I walk for sanity. I walk to stave off the darkness that threatens to overtake. I walk until the false dawn, retreating before the rising sun with my satchel and my thoughts.

The will to live is strong, even in the face of folly. Once again as I stand in my miserable abode I question my will. Why do I persist in sustaining this sleepless life, surrounded by precautions should I lapse and turn into the monster that awaits. My mind erupts with memories of the encounter. An enchanting gaze from across the room, The sultry walk, the barest touch. Pale skin, raven hair, ruby lips, the face forever remembered. A promise of passion was dripping from those luscious lips, which snarled and fanged into horror and draining. One night of transformation they said, one day of sleep for the transformation to complete.

How long ago was it? The number of years eludes me. But I recall enjoying Shakespeare by lamplight before that fateful encounter. And now I tolerate sitcoms on a screen in my hand, watching the world pass into future through a device the future has provided. The entirety of human knowledge is available for me. I could learn anything, see anywhere, become an expert in any field, all through this screen. But all I care for is to be entertained, my human weakness still showing up strong. The will to live remains as I imbibe another vice.

The day dribbles into night, the desire for sleep passes. One more time I have cheated transformation, delayed the monster within. I disengage the precautions, the devices of my destruction should I fall asleep. The night begins. My satchel of vices is empty. My streets are in need of stalking.