Roland rubbed his face groggily as he looked at his alarm clock. It's only 3:47 in the morning, and yet he had woken up. Or maybe he never truly slept, just stuck in position and closing his eyes trying to force himself to sleep.
He stared into the darkness for a while, making shapes that weren't really there.
In the morning, all he ever wanted to do was to sleep. And when he does lay in bed at night after a long and tedious day in court, he can't sleep at all. But he had long accustomed to the insomnia that it eventually felt like an essential part of his entire being, never being able to rest.
He wished that he would just die. Then he would finally be able to get the rest he so desired.
But at the same time, he couldn't just kill himself. Not because he was afraid of suicide, of commiting the act. But because there were just so many things to think about when going about it.
