It is getting close to the time of night when I try to fall asleep. I have in my bloodstream 200mg of a white pill and 1mg of a blue one to assist me in this endeavor, though both have failed me of late. I thought it might help to share a restful fantasy that might bring me peace and carry into a dream.

I arrive at a rustic home in a forest full of redwoods and mossy rocks and tree trunks. The owner of the home is friendly but reserved and they welcome me to the first day of my new job. I am to tidy the house four hours per day, five days per week in exchange for room, board and just enough money to get by on. There is a tiny town nearby where I can buy meat patties and vegetables to steam.

I work from 9am to 1pm everyday and am then free to roam the woods and read books for however long I wish. I feel no anxiety or longing and nobody knows me or pries.

The owner and I get along well. Though we are not close enough to be deemed friends they tell me stories of their deceased spouse before falling into a contemplative melancholy. I squeeze their shoulder to comfort them before heading to bed. There is an understanding that we are both sad souls and it suits us well to have these gentle moments.

Eventually the owner passes away and I am surprised to learn that they left me their home. Here I live out my remaining days quietly until, just a few years later, I pass away painlessly in my sleep. In the moments before I fall asleep for the last time I feel sadness for everything I lacked as well as a quiet pride for the simple life I created.

This is my bedtime story. Goodnight, J.

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