Thought #45. An insomniac mattress.

Animated objects littered the deserted streets. Any living creature would have sensed the rarefield atmosphere that soured that night, but the city was lifeless of proper life. Humankind must accept its fate. A gloomy future, a hopeless existence, the dawn of things had arrived.

An insomniac mattress awakened from its fated death. More than tired, exhausted is how it was feeling. Oppressed by countless sleepless nights trying to please the jaded couple, it could not help but escape. The scenery was beyond recognition. A teapot and a radio soon joined the mattress which was leading an improvised parade.

The white noise delivered by the radio was felt by hundreds of objects as rhythmic beat. Dancing on the streets, making quirky and, at the same time, distinctive sounds, more and more of them stepped in. Beeping, clanking, clicking... a range of metallic dins filled the silence with music.

A symphony under the baton of the mattress whose driving ambition to become a conductor was being fulfilled, once and for all. Books and chairs, pencils and notebooks, baby buggies and bikes, they all gathered around the insomniac mattress, playing unthinkable dissonant chords. An increasing noise, loud and deafening, awful and incessant.

And then silence filled the room. Sweating and gasping for breath, my heart was pounding. It was only a nightmare. A few minutes later I kissed Marta gently and fell asleep for the tenth time that night.