Programming Errors

Pouring

It was raining outside. No, it was pouring. The sound of water hitting the window was constant. It was never-ending.

Thunder shook the walls of the house. Everybody inside was asleep. Everybody but one. They sat in the dark, listening to the rain as it fell. They knew that they weren't going to get much sleep that night. They didn't care. They were used to it. The rain was a nice addition, however. It kept their mind silent. 

Well, not exactly silent. The voices didn't want them dead anymore. Thet just created scenarios in which other people died. The rain calmed them, but nothing could silence them completely.

This was the cost of peace. Insomnia was a small price to pay for sanity.

The voices created worlds inside their mind. They created people and places, stories, and characters. It drove them nearly insane. They would try to write them down but to no avail. They would open up a notebook and grab a pencil, but they could only grasp at wisps of fragments as hundreds of thousands of scenes passed by. They were beautiful, compelling, heart-wrenching pieces of work. They were elusive, nearly mythical creations. They couldn't be caught. They couldn't be contained. They were a storm inside their head.

Sometimes, there is no way to be rid of the things that haunt your waking hours. No way to be rid of the things that make you feel as though you're going insane. No way to even explain why these things anger you so. They just are. They just do. There's no way to put them into words. You can try to get rid of them. That doesn't mean you will succeed. 

They stood up from the bed, letting out a quiet sigh. They walked across the room to pick up their laptop, bringing back to their bed and setting it in front of them.

"It's not like I'll get much sleep anyways..."

They opened the laptop, quickly typing in the password, using their drilled-in muscle memory to unlock the device. The glow from the screen soon filled the room with an eerie white glow. The keys clicked beneath their fingers, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room, vaguely reminiscent of clattering bones.

As they opened up a document, they thought about what they were doing with their life. Staying up until early in the morning, then sleeping for less than six hours on a good day. Waking up only to repeat the cycle. No longer living, just waiting to have something worth living for.