ZineWest 09
Third Prize:
Luke Rule for "The Insomniac Uprising"
The insomniacs are restless again. Well, more than usual. They march wearily down the empty streets, waving their arms in mute appeal. Seth is the leader
of the insomniacs, by virtue of having the reddest eyes and the heaviest head. He has spent the last two days in prison, peering through the bars with his
heavy eyelids. We read this in the papers, since we don't stay up late enough to see it.
We are told it is a symptom, and not a disease in itself. A symptom of what, we are unsure. Scientists are making no headway into the insomniac problem.
Warm milk and soft blankets have performed no better than placebos in clinical trials. While we work, or visit with friends, the insomniacs break in,
searching for any sign of comfort - soft beds, comfy couches, fluffy pillows. These are dragged out into the street and burnt in great riotous bonfires.
And so we sit in our bedrooms filled with hard angles and cold surfaces, clutching our hot chocolates and counting sheep. It is important not to worry.
It interferes with a good night's sleep. But insomnia craves company. The sleepless walk the streets, kicking in car doors and setting off alarms.
They scrape pot lids against the brick walls. Yet we sleep the peaceful sleep of the just. Almost.
They've started to move things. By night the skyline shifts, as the insomniacs move billboards, detour roads, and shift the city in ways that we don't
immediately notice. All maps become useless, all routes merely guesswork. The city itself becomes a dream of hazy recollections. Was this building
always here? Did this road always fork? Seth mumbles his demands in the insomniac tongue, a drone of tired groans and imprecations. Translators
feverishly write down everything, but can make no sense of it. The guards watch him intently. He has all the hours of the day to plan his escape.
The army has declared a state of casual emergency. Nothing to worry about. They keep watch at the checkpoints, peering into faces for signs of bloodshot
eyes or those squinting away from the sun. Sunglasses are seen as a sign of something to hide. But even the sentries must be in bed after the news,
carrying their candles to bed, yawning in their nightcaps. Without a careful scrutiny, an insomniac could pass for a normal person. We remain alarmed,
but not alert. Alertness would keep us awake at night.
There are plans, there have been measures. Caffeine has been outlawed, afternoon naps are mandatory. Men in uniform have been spotted at the
reservoir, furtively huddling over their briefcases. They empty battalions of tranquillisers into the water. Soon there will be no insomniacs.
Seth may one day escape, walking out of his prison while the guards sleep, enacting his master plan to keep us all awake with worry. Or the water
will be first, and the city will sleep where it falls.
Luke Rule: a bartender in Parramatta, student in Wollongong, living in Petersham. Luke seems to spend most of his time on trains.