Insomnia.

Four.

The sound of the pump kick starting as I turned on the tap startled me; the rusty pipes clanging and bashing around creating quite a racket. I found it to be rather strange how such a mass of machinery merely produced a small stream of water. I cupped my hands under the flowing water, the cool icy liquid peeling the dry blood from my skin and banishing it down the plug hole. I lightly splash my face, before vigorously scrubbing it due to the lack of effect. The blood smeared, running down my jawline and dripping onto my shoulders. I look down, fumbling around the cluttered sink for a towel not already covered in one substance or another. I find one, lying underneath the cracked mirror from last week. I shake the shattered glass pieces off and wipe the towel around my neck and collar bones, removing what little blood remained.

I looked up at the mirror; the bags under my eyes glared back at me, a strong indicator of how desperately I needed to sleep. How could I? Why would I? The city is so full of energy and vibrant, so many things going on. It's exhilarating. 4 days; 96 hours; 5760 minutes; 345,600 seconds; bloody hell, had it really been that long? I hadn't slept in 4 whole days. Not that I cared, but still, it was an awfully long time. A distant siren whirred through the night, a few blocks away. In a panic, I stumbled towards the nearest cupboard, swiping my hands along the basin while knocking the clutter flying doing so. Glasses smashed, razors scratched the floor and pills scattered around the room. I swung open the doors, noticing the lack of room inside. I flung a battered old set of golf clubs across the room, the dusted case making a loud thud on the floor and the clubs spilled out. The sirens grew closer and the louder they became, the harder the thuds of my heart. I cursed to myself, before having an idea. If I trash the apartment, it will look like something has happened and maybe they won't be so focused on me. I smiled at my intelligence, picking up the 9 iron from the floor and getting a firm grasp on the grip. I groaned as I looked around the room, realising how little sentimental possessions I actually had; no family photos, no gifts, no memories. This apartment meant as little to me as the dog shit on the bottom of my shoe. Another thought hit me, why not just burn it? Eliminate any trace that could lead to me?

I reached into the left breast pocket of my long, cream coat hanging on the oak coat hanger. My hand stroked the silk lining and pulled the dragon engraved lighter from its cushioned bed. As the sirens reached their peak, I noticed my time was running frighteningly low. I dashed into the kitchen and swung open the second cupboard from the right, above the fridge. I grabbed a few bottles of Jack Daniel's, Smirnoff and Malibu, removing the caps. I decided to avoid wasting time that I should forget the caps. Bottles glided through the air elegantly, before shattering against the cold, hard wooden floor. Alcohol spewed out, coating the floor and furniture. The light glistened on it, giving a beautiful, almost peaceful look to the room. Without allowing the time to let it sink in my home was about to be reduced to ash, I loosened my grip on the lighter. It whistled through the air before hitting the floor, igniting the room in flames.

The room became an orange sea of flames, with the ornaments like drowning sailors, spluttering for air. Flames licked the walls, hungrily peeling away the wallpaper and turning it to dust. I didn't even care about the money I was throwing away; I can buy another house. If I get locked away, I have no way out. No family to bail me out, no funds hidden away to use, no chance of parole. This was completely worth it. There was a loud banging at the door and muffled shouting from what I presumed to be officers, or nosey neighbours. I pressed my pocket buzzer, signalling to whoever was on the other side to come in. I laughed to myself, you have to enjoy the little things in life sometimes.

I was right. It was my neighbour, Janice. I knew it was her because her luscious, blonde locks were the first things for the flame to engulf, turning them a fiery orange. For a split second, her face was illuminated and her beauty shone like it did the night we met. We had previously dated for roughly eight months last year. The feeling was promptly battered back into the corner of my mind it resided in, dragged back in by the thoughts of the annoying, rude human being she really was, each holding an arm. They gave me a thumbs up as my face broke into a grin watching the flames engulf her stupid fucking face. Shadows on the wall behind her jolted backwards, presumably cops. Three sets of arms all lunged forwards, pulling Janice to the floor, away from the raging fire and saving themselves. The door was kicked shut and the wood splintered as it smashed against the door frame. I spun on the heel of my foot, pirouetting elegantly to face the window. I slid my hand along the kitchen worktop, scooping up my brown leather wallet with the white stain, $50 in cash and my pocket-knife, which I slipped into a holder concealed underneath my trousers. I quickened my pace a little, the cool guy approach had to go if I wanted to make it out with my face intact. I lifted my cream mac from the hanger and slipped into it, wrapping my bare skin in the cool, violet coloured silk lining. There was no time to grab a shirt, besides, wasn't like I could get one. A wall of flames had blocked off the pathetic excuse of a life I was leading, pushing me over the edge into my new life, literally. I had to jump out of the window to escape it. The fire exit was on the other side of the room, and most likely facing directly onto the four sets of sirens I heard turn up in the time between lighting the fire and burning Janice's face. I took the next few paces to the window and clicked the latch out of place. I slid the window up and without sparing a thought, launched myself out of the window towards the dumpster below.