Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2015 19:59:16 GMT -6
Lance Corporal Lionel Barrett
ODST Squad Beta-Ten
Aboard UNSC Paris-class Frigate Vercingetorix
Wanting for a Good Night's Rest
ODST Squad Beta-Ten
Aboard UNSC Paris-class Frigate Vercingetorix
Wanting for a Good Night's Rest
Insomnia. Noun.
The inability to obtain sufficient sleep, especially when chronic. Difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.
God, even reciting the dictionary definition of the condition wasn't helping Lionel find any rest. In the bunk above, "Savage" was snoring away, Appleton and other ODSTs snoozing lazily through the night cycle, but Lionel was awake, wide awake, as the stars winked outside the barrack window. It wasn't nightmares that kept him up, and Lionel had ruled out diet, fitfulness, energy, or anything else that could easily explain why the scrawny ODST simply couldn't find any rest. The only thing left was that he was thinking too much, and that he needed to clear his head. True, constantly thinking about the issue was probably compounding it; a walk would do him some good.
Pushing himself out of the lower bunk, Lionel's toes didn't curl and recoil at the feel of the cold steel floor of the Vercingetorix's hull. He was used to it, more than most. Fresh recruits would still hiss and coil at the feel of the cold floor, but Lionel had been raised in space. Touching a warm floor or raw earth had been exotic for a younger Lionel. He could recall the first time he pushed his toes into the sand along the shores of a colonial world, feeling the beach embrace his feet as the warm seawater rolled over his ankles. But this contact, this cold touch of smooth alloy: it was nothing if not nostalgic. He filed it away mentally to mention to Waller the next time they talked. True, all his brother could talk about these days was wedding planning (likely because he knew his bride, Lionel's CO, barely mentioned it on-duty), but it was always nice to ruminate on the good times they'd had growing up on the Mad Jenny. No Covenant, no refugees, no war-just honest work for honest pay, drifting happily from world to world.
Stepping out into the hall, Lionel cast squinting eyes around as they adjusted to the sudden light. He could hear the distant footsteps of people on the night watch, but Lionel wouldn't interrupt them just because he couldn't sleep. Turning towards the frigate's R&R room, Lionel scratched the back of his head, mind still roiling, rumbling with thoughts that lived on the fringe of his mind like distant thunder. They were too far from his mind to conjure and feel, but they were too close to be left unheard. These idle thoughts, this useless detritus, drifted through his mind like errant debris, and all Lionel wanted to do was waft away with them and rest.
But how did the old saying go? No rest for the wicked.
The inability to obtain sufficient sleep, especially when chronic. Difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.
God, even reciting the dictionary definition of the condition wasn't helping Lionel find any rest. In the bunk above, "Savage" was snoring away, Appleton and other ODSTs snoozing lazily through the night cycle, but Lionel was awake, wide awake, as the stars winked outside the barrack window. It wasn't nightmares that kept him up, and Lionel had ruled out diet, fitfulness, energy, or anything else that could easily explain why the scrawny ODST simply couldn't find any rest. The only thing left was that he was thinking too much, and that he needed to clear his head. True, constantly thinking about the issue was probably compounding it; a walk would do him some good.
Pushing himself out of the lower bunk, Lionel's toes didn't curl and recoil at the feel of the cold steel floor of the Vercingetorix's hull. He was used to it, more than most. Fresh recruits would still hiss and coil at the feel of the cold floor, but Lionel had been raised in space. Touching a warm floor or raw earth had been exotic for a younger Lionel. He could recall the first time he pushed his toes into the sand along the shores of a colonial world, feeling the beach embrace his feet as the warm seawater rolled over his ankles. But this contact, this cold touch of smooth alloy: it was nothing if not nostalgic. He filed it away mentally to mention to Waller the next time they talked. True, all his brother could talk about these days was wedding planning (likely because he knew his bride, Lionel's CO, barely mentioned it on-duty), but it was always nice to ruminate on the good times they'd had growing up on the Mad Jenny. No Covenant, no refugees, no war-just honest work for honest pay, drifting happily from world to world.
Stepping out into the hall, Lionel cast squinting eyes around as they adjusted to the sudden light. He could hear the distant footsteps of people on the night watch, but Lionel wouldn't interrupt them just because he couldn't sleep. Turning towards the frigate's R&R room, Lionel scratched the back of his head, mind still roiling, rumbling with thoughts that lived on the fringe of his mind like distant thunder. They were too far from his mind to conjure and feel, but they were too close to be left unheard. These idle thoughts, this useless detritus, drifted through his mind like errant debris, and all Lionel wanted to do was waft away with them and rest.
But how did the old saying go? No rest for the wicked.
