The losing battle

​It was late at night and the world thrummed with the gentle snoring in every bed, except one. He set about getting the usual suspects together – a bottle of fine aged single malt to let his fears curl up and sleep, a few magic pills to drown out the noise of his worries and a thick fat volume – his wife’s autobiography. One by one,  he picked up each item and inspected it carefully.  The aromatic candles bled their lives slowly competing with the light from the lamps till finally the rising sun’s rays put them all to shame. He gathered everything up with a sigh and returned them to their places. The red crosses on the calendar welcomed the new addition – Another day that he had been denied entry to the dreamland.

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