Troubled Sleep Bookstore Novels & Stories

My mood changed drastically and Sebastian noticed this. He asked what was wrong with me and I didn't know if it was a good idea to tell him what was happening to me. -It's hard to explain. -You didn't sleep very well, did you? -Is it that noticeable? -Why can't you sleep, is something bothering you? -No, it's just that I can't get to sleep. -But I can tell you're tired, tell me what's wrong. -It's hard to explain. -I know I shouldn't interfere but it's wrong that you don't sleep, you're affecting your health.

She got up and left. Frances yawned. "Good night mom." She turned off the lamp and shut her eyes. Frances worked as a salesclerk at the Soft View Bookstore, along Huxely Street, Boston. The bookstore was well known, not because it was a large establishment, but due to the style of book display ordered by Mr. Yamato -- nearly half of the books were displayed outside in a heavy show glass. This could be the most reason why each morning of a working day wore Frances out. She just hated everything about the book store.

“Holy shite!” I spent the next hour going through page by page. However, it seemed that the book always managed to place a new page at the back as soon as I finished reading one page because I’d never gotten through the book despite the five hours of sleep that I’d foregone. Right before the breaks of dawn, I reached an interesting page filled with names.

I am not a tall girl, no more than the average size of any American fresh out of adolescence. I'm going to Joshua's room. There is only a small metal bed that is wrapped and disassembled, the kind you use when you have visitors who need to sleep at home. I bought it second hand at a garage sale a year ago. Before we slept in the same bed. It has a wooden table that has seen better times. In it she puts books, teas, sodas and her homework. Joshua is asleep. I don't think I can be awake. According to my cell phone, it's after three in the morning, when Freddy Krueger and the zombies in the Michael Jackson video go out to murder people and eat their brains.

Only a small reading light, that illuminated the spot above Nadia’s book as she sat in bed reading, broke the darkness of the bedroom. Nadia was focused on the novel in her left hand and the warm tea in the other. She’d been unable to sleep even after several drinks at the bar. Jake had been holed up in his own penthouse all day reading about demons and how to avoid them and the infamous story of the devil at the crossroad. Nadia wasn’t offended by his absence but the distraction would be nice, she thought.

Wе went tо the bookstore аnd spent a fеw hours thеrе lооkіng thrоugh bооkѕ аnd magazines and sipping соffее. Drорріng thе grосеrіеѕ at hоmе, I had Rоѕе расk us a lunсh. I рut a tarp аnd twо ѕlееріng bаgѕ іn thе bed of the truсk. Rоѕе сhаngеd іntо jeans and green flаnnеl ѕhіrt.

Talk about a hypocritical mind' I thought to myself as I drifted off. Tiredly, I was soon engulfed by slumber that came with confusion. I slept in no more than five minutes after; though I had been having sleeping problems from when I was eleven. At that time, it was understandable, it had been hard for me to sleep, with all the things I was going through at home and at school.

Maybe the book store is really one of the ways to launder money” I continued thinking to myself. It was now late and I went to sleep in one of the spare bedrooms since Charlotte and I had a huge fight earlier, so she wouldn’t want to see me waking up next to her the next morning. I lied on the bed with my eyes wide open for hours, imagining the secrets that Charlotte has and with the voice of that strange woman striking my head. I realized that it was now time for me to do some digging. I checked time on my phone and it was almost midnight so I just closed my eyes until I passed out.

I didn’t sleep at all last night. The anxiety of Gustaf coming to find me prevented me from falling into a peaceful sleep. And whenever my eyes would close, nightmares snared me like a deer caught in a trap in the woods. I honestly think I woke up a billion times, drenched in a cold sweat and tears not far away. It was a terrible night, and needless to say, something needs to be done about the Gustaf situation. “Hmm...” I hum to myself while holding up a book named, “How to stop worrying about your stupid ex-boyfriend,” that I found at the store.

The room, with its soft hues and the gentle sway of the curtains, became a sanctuary where I could begin to heal and rebuild the shattered pieces of my trust. I took one of the books and settled back into the armchair, the book resting on my lap, ready to lose myself in its pages. But as the minutes turned into hours, a restlessness seeped into my bones, an invisible thread of unease that refused to be ignored. Tiredness tugged at my eyelids, urging me to surrender to the embrace of sleep. Reluctantly, I set the book aside. I slipped beneath the covers, seeking solace within the soft embrace of the blankets, hoping that sleep would bring respite from the tumultuous emotions that still linger