I didn’t need to sleep anymore. At first, it was amazing, until I learned what was really happening.

November 11th. That was the day my need to sleep disappeared. Night approached. Sleep did not come. I didn’t even feel tired in the slightest.

Honestly, it was like a dream come true. I had so much time to explore and do things that I never had the time to do. Besides doing work in the office, I also traveled to different parts of the city, went bar hopping all night, and caught up with my old hobbies. Taking up drawing again brought back old memories of when I opted for artistry instead of studying for finals.

Some nights I had no plans, and on those nights I had a ritual of going out for a walk, wandering down random streets before navigating my way back home. Occasionally, on some of those walks, I would feel a surge of energy – mind racing, every cell in my body screaming for action. That was when I ran, zipping through alleyways, grabbing onto corners to assist with turns. My hands scraped when I brushed them along the rough walls. The dopamine rush was unrivaled. I’d never felt so free.

It was around late December when the letters started coming. Through the mail, almost every single day, a letter was sent to me, the envelope crumpled and note inside scrawled in a messy fashion. At times the paper was wrinkly like someone had spilled water on it.

I didn’t pay much attention to it at first. The first few letters contained the same message.

I can barely stay awake because of you.

It had to be some kind of prank, some kind of fluke.

But then there was another line.

I’ve seen you running.

Sure, it wasn’t a surprise, the city was lively at all hours and I’ve run past people before. But why would this person pay attention to me? Was this a noise complaint? Did I have a stalker on my hands?

I needed more information. I wanted to send a note back, but I didn’t have an address. I don’t even know how this person managed to find where I lived and deliver them when I wasn’t here.

It did seem like these notes were hand delivered though. I wrote a note, asking Who are you? and put it into my mailbox.

Then the next day came another.

I want to meet up. 10pm, under the bridge in three days.

Three days passed in a flash, and I was admittedly nervous. I didn’t know if I was getting into something dangerous, but I was confident in my ability to escape if anything did go wrong. Worst comes to worst I had the police on speed dial.

I arrived at the bridge two minutes before 10. He arrived seven minutes later at the opposite side.

Immediately, I could tell he was in bad shape.

The most defining feature were the circles under his eyes. His eyebags were deep and dark – it looked like he hadn’t slept for days, maybe even weeks. His eyes were bloodshot and hair messy, sticking out in multiple directions. He was still wearing pajamas as if he’d left his house in a hurry.

“I’m like this because of you.”

My eyes flicked up to meet his. He was staring at my face, watching where I was looking.

“Hold on, let’s talk this out,” I said slowly, lifting my hands to show him my palms. He was clearly out of it and I didn’t want to aggravate him. “I don’t know what I’m doing to make this happen.”

I took a few steps forward.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” he screeched, taking a few steps back. He pulled out a knife from somewhere behind him, brandishing it at me.

I froze.

“You know what you’re doing! You’ve been stealing my consciousness… I can barely stay awake now… haven’t you noticed how you feel on your runs? Soooo energetic you would start running? You would only feel that when you reached a certain place wouldn’t you?”

I thought back to my runs. I didn’t pay attention at the time but it was true. I only felt that way when I ran through a certain street.

“Well that’s because you ran by me! It gets worse when we get closer to each other. Haven’t you ever contemplated why you don’t need to sleep? It’s because you’re giving your tiredness to me! All of it!”

“Hold on… I had no idea…” I stammered.

“Cut the bullshit!” he yelled. “You only exist to torment me! I remember the day, November 11, when I moved here, I could barely keep myself awake. I tried coffee, caffeine pills, other remedies – nothing could ever fix it. Here I am, fighting sleep every single second, and now more than ever since I’m standing so close to you, while you’re out living the life I could’ve had. It’s not fair…”

Tears started streaming down his face. His eyes closed for a few seconds but he slapped himself hard, forcing himself to stay awake.

Meanwhile, I was still processing this information. So I was only like this because I was giving all my tiredness to someone else? I felt uncomfortable with the idea that someone else is suffering for my benefit. It’s not like I asked for this… I never wanted this to happen.

“Can’t you just move away? Then everything would be fixed!” I told him, grasping at straws.

“You think it’s that easy? Why do I have to move? Why can’t you move?”

“I’ve built a life here!”

“Well I’ve already taken so much for you! It’s time for you to pay it back!”

A long silence stretched between us.

His hands were shaking. His grip around the knife tightened. I didn’t know whether he was angry or just tired.

“Ok, I can pay it back,” I said, taking a few steps back. “Let’s settle down for a second and figure this out together.”

“Figure it out?”

He laughed, his manic cackling echoing through the underpass.

“I’ve been going through this alone for the past month, and while you were what?” He tapped the back of the knife against his head. “Going bar hopping?” 

“I’m so sorry this happened. I’m genuinely sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I can fix it…”

“Fuck,” he muttered. His gaze dropped to the ground. He pushed his palm into his forehead before sliding his fingers into his hair and gripping at stray tufts.

“Of course you’re sorry. Why wouldn’t you be? A person with too much time has time to be sorry for anything.”

His bloodshot eyes bore a hole into my head, stare now unfocused.

“I’m so sick of it all.”

Shit. “Wait. WAIT…”

He lunged at me. And he was fast. I turned to run away.

I looked over my shoulder and he was right behind me, his expression twisted in anger, his eyes burning with willpower, his arm raised to drive the knife through my back…

This is where I die.

I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for it.

It never came.

I opened my eyes to find his body crumpled to the floor. 

No, he couldn’t be dead could he? I hurriedly checked his pulse. Fortunately he was still breathing.

I didn’t have the heart to leave him out there. I took the knife from his hand and left it at the bridge. Taking him back to my place wasn’t difficult.

I think – I think him getting so close to me was a bad idea. I think I might have put him into an eternal slumber.

I had to solve this somehow.

So I drove him some hours out to another city. I kept looking into the rearview mirror to make sure his chest was rising and falling. I tried my best to focus on my task, to focus on the exit signs and the navigation, but I couldn’t ignore the guilt welling inside of me. He’s been through so much because of me.

I booked a hotel room and left enough cash for him to buy necessities. I hoped that would be enough and he would wake up once I left. In theory it should work. I prayed it would work.

I left him on the bed and set the money on the table beside him.

A few months have passed. My tiredness has come back, a feeling I’d long forgotten. A positive indicator, perhaps. Some nights I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. I don’t go on runs anymore.