The Insomniac – Writing About Myself in the Third Person

She could stay awake all night if she had to. The darkness enveloped her, suffocated her. A black gloved hand over her face. She gazed out of the window into the blueblack sky. The stars were on vacation. Her heartbeat sounded like the Gods pounding on some huge drum. She could feel her own body as it slowly decomposed. This was death in the midst of life. Something or someone more powerful than her had taken control, had seized her autonomy away from her. She was afraid that if she fell asleep she would never wake up. She felt exposed, her innards visible to some great God. Her bones rattled. She was disintegrating. Delusions fought with one another in her head. Oblivion had never been so far away.

Edit: Finally, some good news. A parcel just arrived containing a novel I have been after for ages. Le Sang Des Autres (The Blood of Others) by Simone de Beauvoir. I read it years ago before it went out of print. Watch out for a review if I can be bothered.

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