George sipped his coffee while reading the latest draft not realizing it had gone tepid. He winced. Probably for the best. That cup marked the last of pot number two, and his nerves were standing on end. Sleep would never come. Tomorrow would be misery.
Pushing the cup away, he reached instead for a glass. One made for his “other” favorite liquid.
Wine flowed around the smooth curl of the glass. Red essence crashed into itself, crimson waves breaking on an ocean shore.
He sipped and read and felt his jangled nerves untangle. Perhaps sleep would come tonight after all.
Continue reading “#FridayFictioneers – To Sleep”