For Sleep

            Kyle sighed, and laid back in his plush, oversized, red chair he had jokingly deemed “The Throne”.  He looked around the living room, taking in the velvet curtains, gothic chandelier (was it gothic? He couldn’t remember anymore, it had been so long ago since he’d bought it), the massive amount of authentic antique Persian rugs he had managed to replace the carpet with, how those rugs felt on his feet, and everything else about the room.  As he did this, he reached for the tray marked “candy” on the table at his left.  He didn’t need to look for it to find it; it was in the same place every night.

            Good Christ, what is this all for? He thought to himself, slumped in The Throne like a comatose hospital patient. All of this shit, and for what? What does it give me? I’ve spent my entire life collecting these objects everyone covets. I’ve been successful, I’ve had power. But is this what life is about? Just sitting in a chair, alone, in a house that is large to the point of obscenity?

            “No,” Kyle whined. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had actually spoken aloud.  Should he be embarrassed? Why? Who was around to question him about his errant mutterings? Who was there to look at him inquiringly, or maybe even whimsically, and ask him what he meant when he said, simply, “No”?  There was no one. No one would ask him, no one was around, so what would be the point of being embarrassed? Furthermore, why had the idea stuck in his head for this long, since it was obviously a ludicrous notion?

            On that note, why am I still just thinking? I could say this out loud, I don’t mind. He shrugged his shoulders, tossed a few “candies” into his mouth, and drained the rest of the scotch that had been in his right hand most of that time. After draining it, Kyle looked at the short, stubby glass, wondering how he had managed to not drop it in the past few minutes while he had forgotten himself.

            If I didn’t need these to sleep, what happiness would I have left?

            The thought wandered across his mind like a hobo lost in one of those New York subways everyone talks about.  Wild eyed, half drunk, stumbling, ill prepared for the oblivion to come, yet screaming for it, all the same. With that, his consciousness fled like the coward it was. At least for another day.