Short Story Sunday: Shouting into the Wind

There was no cure for what ailed him. He could have told the countless doctors, specialists and quacks he'd been carted to over the years. It wasn't anything he could physically explain or remedy with any number of concoctions, chemicals or charms. He didn't need sleep in the way that other people did. Doctors were stumped: he was perfectly healthy, not tired or sleepy, and a lack of sleep hadn't stunted his growth in any way. This news had frightened his mother and made his father clear his throat. Eventually he learnt to fake it, to pretend, so that he would fit in and the search for a Sleep Cure would cease.

 

Short Story Saturday: Traumsee

She awoke facing the wall. The street light left a rectangle above her as it sneaked between the blinds. Beside her, the bed was cold; the sheets thrown back in haste, and the door was left ajar. She sat up and turned to face the window. The mist hung low around the house and the sun created a glare as it tried to permeate the day with light.