Sleep – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and the standard.
The garden in Dave’s fascinating photo looks about as well tended as my hair.
And the gate is in much the same condition as my face.
Ah well, nobody is perfect.
The idea here is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture below.

© David Stewart

© David Stewart


I wonder if I will ever fall asleep.
The bed is vast and empty without her.
It is comfortable, but I am not.
I lie on my back, my side, my face.
I stretch, I curl, I sprawl.
I miss her warmth, her nearness.
The room temperature is perfect, mine is not.
The open windows admit the night air.
It is cool, refreshing.
The sky lightens, the birds sing in the trees at the foot of the garden.
I wonder if I will ever fall asleep.
I know she is waiting patiently in the shadows of my mind.
Seeking vengeance.

About ceayr

A Scot who has discovered Paradise in a small town he calls Medville on the Côte d'Azur, C.E. Ayr has spent a large part of his life in the West of Scotland and a large part elsewhere. His first job was selling programmes at his local football club and he has since tried 73 other career paths, the longest being in IT, with varying degrees of success. He is somewhat nomadic, fairly irresponsible and, according to his darling daughter, a bit random.
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42 Responses to Sleep – Friday Fictioneers

  1. Dee says:

    I loved your description of a sleepless and restless night; a result of fear judging by the last line. Well written as always CE


  2. You are so skilled at the final twist. Well done.


  3. Pow! This poetic piece really delivers a punch! The flow is gorgeous, and the tenderness is only blunted by that final line… which is delivered perfectly, not as a blindside. Who hasn’t endured at least one endless night? Nice job Ceayr!


  4. Amy Reese says:

    I got the feeling it was a loving relationship…until the END! Nice twist, CE.


  5. Wasn’t expecting that last line CE. Sounds like he is in love with her but she’s not in love with him.


  6. Haunting! Sounds like a person plagued by regret, or guilt, or both. Beautifully written poem!


  7. rgayer55 says:

    A woman scorned in some form or fashion. I’m sure she’s enjoying his sleeplessness wherever she is.


  8. The last line changes everything.



  9. I wonder if
    he is half-dead
    and soundly asleep she is
    in her comfortable bed
    and she dreams of him
    longing for her
    on her face a grin
    her conscience clear


  10. micklively says:

    A Dostoyevskian conscience wrestle.
    Good piece.


  11. Sandra says:

    Nice twist at the end. Whatever he did, I suspect he’ll pay for it one way or another, though he seems already to be paying, before she gets to him. A good one CE.


  12. bonniehofkin says:

    Something so tantalising about the. Rendezvous we have in the dark velvet rooms of our sleep .
    Well done .


  13. Hard to sleep with all that on your mind.


  14. Longing and guilt make strange bed fellows. I like the confusion in this piece.


  15. Like Patrick I didn’t get the impression that he felt guilty about anything so the last line came as a bit of a surprise that has left me wondering what he actually did.


  16. Clearly there is another story beneath the surface. We can only imagine.
    Rosey Pinkerton’s blog


  17. I wonder if he is repentant – he doesn’t seem it. He misses her but his sleeplessness doesn’t seem guilt driven. Interesting piece to chew on.


  18. Reblogged this on anelephantcant and commented:
    AnElephantCant pretend that he has green fingers
    His touch with a trowel or a hoe is unsure
    He cultivates keenly for hours
    Kills off most of the flowers
    But he does produce a mountain of manure

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Dear C.E.

    His loneliness and restlessness are tangible, well contrasted by his pleasant surroundings. And that last line? Like a slap in the face. Ever so well done.




  20. Dale says:

    The guilt eats away at his sleep…


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