He shifted his weight, the cotton sheets feeling like sandpaper against his skin. Every fold in the fabric was a mountain range, every stray thread a needle. He closed his eyes, determined to force the darkness into a dream, but his brain had other plans. It was currently busy cataloging every awkward thing he had said since the third grade.
He stared at the ceiling. The shadows cast by the streetlamp outside looked like reaching fingers. Usually, he’d find it creepy, but tonight he just felt a kinship with them. They looked tired, too. "Just sleep," he whispered to the empty room.
The clock on the nightstand was a liar. It claimed it was 3:14 AM, but Elias knew better. To him, time had ceased to be a linear progression of minutes and had instead become a thick, suffocating fog.