The Eternal Early Bird

Daniel was a colleague of mine, and a roommate in our shared apartment. He was an ambitious young man with a peculiar sense of humor.

However, there was one flaw — he was an incurable late sleeper. This distressed him immensely. He even bought six of the loudest alarm clocks he could find, arranged them in a circle around his pillow.

The following day, the earth-shattering noise woke not just me, but also our upstairs and downstairs neighbors. But Daniel? He slept through it all, lost in the depths of peaceful oblivion.

He later begged me to wake him each morning. But no matter how hard I slapped his cheek, or even if I dragged him out of bed onto the floor, he'd merely blink in bewilderment, then fall back asleep, snoring away.

Due to his constant tardiness, he had been warned many times by our manager. This instilled real panic in Daniel, who took my advice and sought medical help for his hypersomnia.

That was when his sleeping problem was wholly cured. Every morning at six o'clock, I could still hear Daniel's thunderous snoring from his side of the room. But precisely at half-past six, he'd emerge from his bedroom, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, greeting me with a cheerfulness that hadn't been there before.

Being late was no longer an issue. Out of curiosity, I asked him if he was taking any medication. Daniel told me he had been injected with something called "Liquid Alarm Clock". This substance, once introduced into the human body, could instantly wake a person up at a pre-set time. "It's like flipping on a light switch," he described it, "In an instant, the world brightens and your mind becomes crystal clear."

While I was happy for Daniel, I also felt some trepidation, as I had never heard of such a substance and was unsure of potential side effects. On a particular Sunday, after sleeping in late, I awoke to see Daniel pacing back and forth in our living room, his expression fraught.

"I woke up at half-past six, and haven't been able to sleep since," he explained. "Oh, so this 'Liquid Alarm Clock' doesn't have a feature for setting it to work only on weekdays?" I jested. But Daniel continued, lost in his own thoughts, seemingly oblivious to my comment. "Last night, I played video games until 5:30 am. But once I lay down for barely an hour, I found myself shockingly awake."

From then on, Daniel was deprived of his lazy weekend mornings. Even on days off, he would wake up at half-past six. Later, our company adjusted the work hours; now, waking up at half-past seven was sufficient.

However, the 'Liquid Alarm Clock' appeared immutable, and Daniel would always awake precisely at half-past six, unable to return to sleep. Every morning, I would find him sitting in our living room, looking lost.

"Since you can't sleep, why not exercise or watch some TV?" I suggested. But Daniel would stare back at me with bloodshot eyes, replying, "You don't understand. Knowing that I have to wake up so early each morning makes me reluctant to go to sleep. When I do wake up, I feel so tired. I lack the energy to do anything."

His statement was sadly accurate. Daniel's work performance started to decline, as he made constant errors. He returned to the hospital where he had received the 'Liquid Alarm Clock' treatment, but the doctor who had administered it had left, and no one else knew anything about it.

Daniel's distaste for the 'Liquid Alarm Clock' and his own forced early risings grew by the day. Not only did he develop insomnia, but his wake-up time kept getting earlier. Sometimes, I would be jolted awake at four or five in the morning, disturbed by the sound of Daniel, either unable to sleep or already awake, pacing around in our living room.

This continued for a few months, and Daniel's condition steadily worsened. He was now only sleeping an hour or two each night, his health rapidly deteriorating. He complained to me that the 'Liquid Alarm Clock' had become completely erratic. At times, his mind would suddenly become so clear that he could remember even the smallest details from his infancy, while at other times, he would feel so groggy he couldn't even remember where he was.

By this point, I had grown afraid to engage him in conversation. His temper had grown volatile, and he would often pick fights or randomly throw and break things. The Daniel I had known, kind and approachable, was slowly fading away.

While I was secretly looking for a new place to live, hoping to move out soon, Daniel left us. At exactly half-past six one morning, I heard a furious shout from the next room, "I can't take it anymore!" This was followed by a thud — Daniel had jumped from his bedroom window, landing on the street twenty stories below.

Daniel's relatives and colleagues all came to the funeral home. Standing in front of Daniel's casket, I was filled with sorrow. Just less than 24 hours ago, Daniel was alive. Now he was lying there, fragmented and lifeless.

Lost in my thoughts, I was jolted by a sudden loud "bang!". Daniel's casket lid was thrust open, and he sat up, looking around in confusion.

Then, he opened his shattered mouth and emitted a shrill and piercing sound: "Time to wake u~~~~~~p~~~~~~~."