The exhaustion par William Henne

At first, I felt a bit drowsy.

At the office, my yield probably has suffered.

At home, I went progressively earlier to bed.

And I woke up every day more painfully, at the last moment.

After some delays, I no longer went to work.

One morning, the doctor came visiting me and prescribes me some medicaments for tension. No effect! Sleeping intensified.

Awakening times diminished. As a precaution, I bought a lots of provisions.

Back home, I collapsed on my bed. I did not leave it anymore.

The phone rang, I was fired. I didnâ€™t mind, I slept. When you sleep, you donâ€™t mind.

Someone maybe rang at the door, some colleagues or some other people, I didnâ€™t hear anything.

Itâ€™s better so, they would have taken me to the hospital against my will.

Hospitals, I hate them ! My colleagues too.

And I donâ€™t want them to see me.

Sleeping was like an exquisite delight so as a condemnation. By the door letter plate, bills and reminders.

The phone got off. Anyway, to whom should I phone ?

Not to my colleagues! Not to my family, too far, too quickly worried!

Water was cut off, then the electricity.

The place begun to smell, due to the crockery accumulated, to the rubish, and to me.

So few moments of awakening. It allowed me to feed myself, to go to the toilet.

Except at the end. It was embarrassing, for stomach and for hygiene.

The provisions were consumed.

I led myself outside until a dead end.

I hid, almost of shame, between two garbage cans.

I hoped to find, at every awakening, some food remainders.

When people were putting out their garbage, I was sleeping. When the garbagemen were coming, I was sleeping.

Without any notion of time, I deducted that my sleeping times were rather long.

I should have died during one of them.

William Henne

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The exhaustion

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