It was about three in the afternoon. His eyes pricked like two pieces of hard rock, pulling his eyelids together, tighter by the second. The clock in the corner of his eyes slowly faded to black through the mesh of his eyelashes. The following moment waited silently at a distance for a while, lest it woke him up. But when it arrived, it felt like his head would roll off his slumped chest and hit the desk. The horror of it instantly threw his head upward, pushing his eyes wide open. Wearily, he looked at the clock with his mouth open and dry with a salty thirst and suddenly sprung straight in his chair before any one would catch him napping at work.
Looking around foolishly, he chuckled as he realised he was home and not at work. It was a Sunday. Slumping in his chair, he lazily turned his heavy head to his bed and held still, gaping at it for a few seconds, listening himself breathe. Were he any closer, standing up he would have let his body fall freely ahead, landing flat on the white fluff, and not a muscle would he have had to move.
Not all your wishes come true.
So he moaned tragically as he walked an entire four paces to reach his bed.
The world spun as he crept under the sheets. Lying in his bed, he looked straight ahead at the ceiling. The clock was nowhere in sight. His lips were too tired to convey his smile, and so were his eyes to stay open. What followed required no effort, none whatsoever. If he had to animate 'Sleep', he would have thought of it as a ripple so delicate that it invited no resistance. It began with his head sinking into his soft pillow till his ears drowned and silence grew within. His neck followed the shape of the pillow's pressed edge as it rose and softly dropped down to merge with the bed. His shoulders, and eventually his hands, fell silent as his back seemed to melt into the bed. For a moment, his legs seemed detached and motionless, lying far away from his body, just before they fell asleep.