Untitled Millionaire

The millionaire stared bleary-eyed at the clock: 2:30 AM. The last four hours were spent tossing, turning, thinking, and otherwise doing everything a human can that isn’t sleep. With a frustrated sigh, he swung the twisted bedsheets off of his face and accepted that he’d be exhausted for the rest of the day. He hopped up to the end of his bed and made out as much of his room as he could through the grainy darkness. A crack in the curtain flooded the thin shaft it saw with moonlight. IKEA furniture adorned the walls, with the outlines of a chipped black desk and a white, dilapidated wardrobe all tinted faintly blue. He promised himself for the hundredth time he would replace the crap in his room, and that thought promptly slid into the mental garbage as he got up.

Out in the barren hall, a clambering sound echoed. He frowned and walked to the other end of the hall, more deliberate than he usually would. He caught his breath in his throat as he was startled by the figure sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry about the heart attack, sir,” He said. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“You’re more than welcome to call me by my name, Phillip; I’m not paying for kowtowing.”

“Yes Bill…sir…”

“No, you didn’t wake me up,” Bill said, opening the barren fridge in the hope that some food would magically appear. “I don’t sleep well at the best of times, but it doesn’t seem like anything’s gonna happen tonight.”

Phillip snapped another piece into his jigsaw puzzle. The patchy image of a pack of lions was becoming more visible every day. “So, are you going to catch a few naps throughout the day?” He asked.

Bill pulled a neglected beer out of the fridge and closed the door. “Nope, not for me. Quite honestly I have no idea how anybody naps. How do you stop your brain going a million miles an hour long enough to actually fall asleep?” He wandered over to the kitchen light dial and turned it a few notches, creating a blue, daytime ambience.

“How do you go to sleep at night usually?” Phillip asked.

Bill plopped down on the opposite chair, put his beer down, and grabbed a few puzzle pieces. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s the routine?” He scanned the blank spaces for a puzzle match.

“What routine is that?” Phillip asked, mumbling as he focused on the board.

“Y’know, the time, the reading.”

Phillip shot him a disbelieving glance.

“…or whatever video takes my interest,” Bill said, finally twisting off the top of his beer.

“Did you think about doing something like that for a nap?”

Bill took a sip of the drink and as soon as the yeasty liquid hit his tongue he remembered why the beer was neglected. “I waste enough time as it is by sleeping. I don’t want to make a thing out of it when I could be doing something productive instead.” He got up to pour the nasty liquid down the sink.

Phillip placed another piece down, a corner piece this time. Bill walked over to the dial and switched the light all the way off. Both men looked out the window and saw the flame-red of the morning sun bleed over the horizon. The dark-blue grassy hills threatened to change colour, but remained bathed in leftover moonlight.

“I don’t suppose you want to try and get some shut-eye before it gets brighter?”

“I don’t see how that works.”

“You know,” He placed another piece down, “If you sleep now before night is completely over you might fool your brain.”

Bill nodded. “Fair enough, goodnight Phillip,” He said, heading down the hall.

“Goodnight S… Bill.”